


Caramel Latte & Coffee Black

by Audriss



Category: Real Person Fiction, The Boondock Saints RPF, The Walking Dead RPF
Genre: A love Story, Angst, Anxiety, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Mentions of Cancer, Recovery, Sexual Content, Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:57:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 67,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Audriss/pseuds/Audriss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How well can you actually know someone? Now, that's a real question right there. In all honesty you cannot know anyone as well as you're supposed to know yourself, not even your own flesh and blood.</p><p>How about those strangers you know only vicariously through movies, TV shows and the public image they uphold in interviews and such? Those who come from daydreams and fantasy lands when you feel down, and pretend to have them swoop you off your feet. And what about when they do not live to your expectations, or you do not meet theirs? Or when you are putting them in shoes that do not fit? </p><p>It was never about fulfilling her dream; she had already done that with her career, but Jae wasn't really living until she got caught in the whirlwind that surrounded him. For a girl like her it felt at the same time horrifying and emotionally consuming, but at the same time titillating, like an all-consuming flame was burning inside of her. </p><p>Truthfully, she didn't know how to pull herself from it, even when she knew she should have. She wasn't sure she could, or if she really wanted to. But first she would have to see if love actually conquers all or does it falter with the presence of phobias.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on Wattpad.

It all started out as innocent and harmless as possible. 

I never thought much about it. It was me after all who instigated it. I had found him on Twitter and after some time with replying, liking and an odd re-tweet here and there, I received a notification that he was following me. I flinched every time to that, even a good full year after. It was strange, because - - it just was.

And every time I published something, even just snippets of lyrics, or even complete songs with download link included there was some kind of a nod towards it. Usually a re-tweet. It just felt even stranger, because my style in music and what he preferred were really nothing alike. 

It lasted some time, just like that. Maybe five or six months.

An odd wordless conversation between us, like we could read each others minds from just by those tweets of 160 characters. And it was, after all, stupid to think anything out of that. I didn’t really know him, personally, or professionally, nor would I ever. 

I had never been to any of those Comic Cons he was usually doing, when he wasn’t filming that TV show of his. I had seen that show of course. Everyone and their mother had, that was for sure. I had seen some of the movies he was in - - truth to be told only a fraction of them was something I would have watched if I was given a choice. I had seen his picture plastered all over the place, all over New York; magazines, Internet, billboards, fan merchandize, interviews for magazines and talk shows - - that’s what I knew about him. All of that was just accidental, stumbling onto something, and ending reading interviews and such with full blown curiosity. I hardly ever even remembered any names of actors and actresses from movies or shows I had seen, so stalking wasn’t much my cup of tea. 

I wasn’t a girl who would find herself in the biggest party in LA or in New York, or any other city for that matter. I never went to parties, period! Well, unless I was escorted by my agent, and even then I was practically forced to do it. And I certainly didn’t approach people just to make acquaintance with them.

Apart from what I did for a living, I was practically a shut-in, because of a choice. I didn’t like seeing people, I got nervous in big crowds and usually that triggered my panic attacks. And when I did leave the apartment, to go to a store, library, movies, or what ever I walked, or used my bicycle, since all cabs, cars and the subway usually brought me very quickly down with my claustrophobia.

For me, it was completely different to know a person online, than to know one personally. I found comfort in distance, and in the security of anonymity. With a computer, or on a phone, I could always end our conversation or terminate the connection, if things got too much for me to handle, but face to face? That if anything was out of the question. 

It was also certainly quite the opposite to actually meet someone in private, whether it be in a coffee house, restaurant or just simply on any street. But those conversations usually took too fast to the side of intimacy I wasn’t looking for. I had come to a conclusion that most men I met were triggered by my shyness and only wanted to get in my pants. Not that I really was in a search mode for that – a relationship or a one night stand. I was dead scared of talking to people, the ones I didn’t know at all or even people I knew. I felt panicked even when I went grocery shopping! 

So, what ever it was that I had with someone on Twitter, sure as hell never was anything more but strange.

Truthfully, if my agent had not blackmailed me into doing it, and if I hadn’t been booked to perform at a Comic Con in New York, I don’t think I would have thought much about him. We would have never acknowledged the existence of each other. I would have - - I did, but him? He wouldn’t have spared one thought towards me, and that was a fact. Of course, when I received the invitation to perform at the Con, and after a long and weary discussion about it with my agent and the fight we got over about it, I had accepted the gig. I felt less than interested in when my performance number was announced on the Con’s website. And I was even less cheerful about the entire performance at the Con. I knew the audience was just a few steps away from the stage and I hated that idea.

That was one of the things we had fought about with my agent. He told me that the Cons were close knit events from the performers to the fans, and I had shouted back at him that I didn’t have any fans at the Con, and I was just a filler artist and could easily just drop the whole crap off.

He had not taken it well, considering I was his protégé. 

In all fairness I had to admit, that I had chosen a pretty weird career for myself, considering I suffered a terrible stage fright, claustrophobia off the wazoo and I had panic attacks on regular basis in and out of strange crowds. 

My career choice? I was a Juilliard trained singer and dancer. 

Certainly it gave me a nice touch in my résumé bearing in mind that most of the Juilliard trained singers and dancers were in fact incredibly talented and outgoing personalities, and usually moved forward in their lives and became highly acclaimed performers.

I had chosen a rather different path with that.

I appreciated all of my training, studying and contacts that the education provided for us, but I had not wanted to take my life to the lime light and dollar signs. I had remained in New York, I had settled for a non-distinctive career.

Writing lyrics, composing the songs, putting together two albums over the past three years, it had been an accomplishment of sorts.

And despite of all my own personal issues I knew I could sing! I could sing pretty, beautiful, sad and gritted. I knew how to sing with every emotion and scale and everything in between. I was good at it. Not to toot my own horn there. That’s why I could never even consider an exchange of careers. I loved music, and the arts too much, and I loved to sing. Just allow the music to transport me away, just - - sing.

Not that I needed to do much else, I got along pretty well with what I had already, but once or twice a year I joined the Cedar Lake Contemporary Ballet Company, either by providing music and doing some volunteer work, or by joining in the background dancers. But the point in that was that I had the chance to practice on my own, alone in the Cedar Lake dance hall. I was too scared, and too self-aware to practice with the group, but I loved the darkness of the dance hall, the light that illuminated only the stage and the silence which was all around me, when I listened to music with my mp3 ear buds. 

I could just move through and with the music, as I pleased, without being judged by others. Or I could practice the songs I had and see how they sounded when sung out loud. 

So truthfully speaking, if I didn’t love singing and music so much I would have changed career goals way before when.

It was nerve wrecking every time to get up on the stage and do a piece or two, and try to relax. To me it was something that I could have lived without, even though I loved singing. And as a result to that, I had separated my personal and public life with distinguishing differences. I was far more outgoing while I was on stage, even while I was online, than I was in real life. The bravado I had to put on throughout interviews and performances - - that was just that; bravado.

In reality I was shy as hell, when it came to talk to people. I rarely drank any alcohol or let myself be out of control in any way outside my apartment. I could run and dance and sing to my heart’s content at home, in my apartment, but on the outside I kept myself on a tight leash, and heavily guarded by the walls I had built for myself brick by brick.


	2. Songs To Be Sung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't write poems or song lyrics to save my life, so none are used in here. If I choose to use some lyrics, I'll be sure to mention what song they belong to and who really owns that song.

I’m sitting in the back of the SUV that was slowly making its way towards the convention hall. I kept twisting and squeezing my fingers, somehow hoping that it would alleviate my slowly building panic attack. As we turned on to the Plaza Drive I flinched when I saw how many people were gathered around the Meadowlands Exposition Center. I very nearly threw up right then. No, I very nearly bolted out of the car and ran right back to Manhattan. 

“Hey,” my manager, Jon, said next to me, leaning closer, “Just breathe deep, okay?”

“Easy for you to say,” I said, as I felt my arms go practically numb and powerless.

He chuckled and winked at me, “At least you’ve not lost your sense of humor.”

I knew he was just picking on me to get a rise out of me, because when I was feeling adrenaline rush of an argument, it was easier for me to walk on that stage. I made a face at him and he laughed out right at me, poking my foot with his boot. 

“Ass,” I mumbled and he chuckled out loud, tipping his hand towards his forehead and nodding at me, “Bitch.”

I really wished he’d be more understanding, but I guess, that was out of question. So, I took what I could, hence the snark. Jon wasn’t new to these things, and he’d advertised and praised Comic Con gigs as the easiest ones. He had told me that the people – the fans – were never aggressive and they were always ready to help, and how sweet they were really. He was easy to approach. He was outgoing, he smiled, took people in without much trouble – just like a dry sponge took in water. I had arched my eyebrow at him, and made a face, and really had wanted to ask him if he was talking about the girls in there or everyone in general but I didn’t want to start a fight, which it would have escalated into right then and there on the phone. He wasn’t that big of an ass in the end. I doubt he’d go with the girls who just offered themselves to him, but I had never really asked about them, and I wasn’t about to start now either.

The SUV turned to the back exit and Jon climbed out of the car, holding the door open for me and helped me out, like a chivalrous man he was. I frowned at him and he just winked at me.

I glanced at the entrance of the alley and saw few people lurking at the mouth of it, clearly trying to interpret if they wanted to stampede in and demand for an autograph. I bit my cheek, and Jon wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pushing me gently towards the door. We got in before the fans even noticed who we were and I sighed out of relief.

“Okay, just breathe and calm down,” Jon said, as he continued to usher me through the back stage.

I still wanted to snap back at him that it was easy for him to say that, when it was in fact me who had to walk up to that stage, but just bit my lip, as my head was spinning already and I didn’t want to black out right then and there. 

I nearly shrieked out loud when a man wearing baggy jeans, with a studded belt and a black T-shirt appeared in front of us. Jon sighed, and squeezed my shoulders, but didn’t say a word. I kept my head bowed down, staring at my shoes.

“Hey, you’re here!” that man said, “Welcome!”

I nodded, allowing myself to look up at him. He had nice eyes, friendly, but I couldn’t remember for the death of me what color they were, because I couldn’t keep on looking into them longer than few seconds. He had a flip board on his hands and he frowned as he looked at the paper attached to it. 

“You are a bit early. But that’s fine. Better that way actually. They,” he said, and pointed his thumb over his shoulder, apparently referring to the people that were the reason all the fans were outside for, “They are still at it. And it looks like the lunch break is pushed back a little. So, just sit tight here and I’ll come tell you when it’s your turn, alright Ms. Howard?”

I nodded and smiled to the man, “Yes, t-thank you,” I couldn’t help my voice fluttering a little.

“Now would be a good time to channel some of that stage bravado you’re so good at,” Jon said, pushing me towards the seats near the stage exit. There was a woman, sporting a bright red hair, and blue eyes wearing blood red lipstick and a smile. I stared at her, and then frowned looking at Jon. 

“So, I’m not good enough this way?” I asked, and pointed haphazardly at my face, making a lazy circle with my finger just inches from my cheeks.

“You do, Sweet, but why don’t we just let Lynn here do some more magic, okay?” Jon said and guided me gently to the seat and nodded towards Lynn the make-up artist. I very nearly punched him right into his jaw. Very nearly. 

I sighed as Lynn began her work. I closed my eyes and thought about how my life seemed to be a long line of ‘very nearly’ moments and I mostly ended up doing things what other people expected of me anyways. But then again, what it would have done but hurt my arm if I had punched Jon? He hadn’t forced me to choose this career. I had done it to myself by myself. He’d only had suckered me into doing this Comic Con gig.

Being booked to gigs such as this one meant income! I could do stuff, buy things, food, other necessities, and more. But still, the moments before entering the stage were always the ones where I found myself regretting my career choice to the umpteenth power and thinking that if I started now, how fast I could run until I was at the JFK?

I squirmed in the seat and Lynn had to tell me to sit still several times over. After what felt like an hour she smiled, beaming, looked at me and told me she was finished. 

As I looked at my reflection at the mirror, I had to admit that it looked rather cool. My long rosy golden hair fell down to my back, like a reddish brown cascade. Lynn had not dabbled with anything but my eyes. She had applied both blue and purple eyeshadow, with black eyeliner, and lots of mascara. I had smoky eyes, and glossy nude lips. A style that usually wasn’t me, but now, wearing black jeans, dark brown leather boots and a navy halter neck top with off-shoulders sleeves and a black leather belt, it made the reflection of mine complete.

I thanked her and clambered up from the seat and hobbled over to Jon, who was standing by the stage entrance. 

Fidgeting with my fingers, I chewed the inside of my cheek, as I peeked quickly at the audience. I couldn’t touch my nails, so my tongue and cheek usually got the worst of it. The irony in the situation I was in at the moment wasn’t lost with me, it was very the Walking Dead of me, and it fit to the theme of the Con quite perfectly. Zombies and characters from the show, characters from movies and other shows were buzzing through the hall. I didn’t recognize half of the characters and most of the costumes made me gawk in awe. They were actually very elaborate and amazing. It was strange how much effort the fans would put into their costumes when they were coming to one of these events. 

Jon didn’t pay any attention to the people buzzing around us, or the people at the audience; he was too busy coaching me to the right state of mind. He went on that I was going to pull it through and I was going to shine. I chortled a little and made a face at him, before he told me to grow up. I still wanted to laugh out loud and it made him pout like he was a five year old who didn’t get that toy car he had just begged for. 

“Four songs. Plus extra two if they allow, depends of the time,” he said after a moment, making me sigh. I seriously wished that I had listened to my own gut earlier and declined.

“Jon,” I heard someone call him and turned around to shake my arms nervously. He went on to talk to someone, and left me to worry myself to a breaking point. I started to go through the multiplication table in my mind as a method to calm myself down. It didn’t do much good to me. Most of the time, it didn’t do jack. Neither did anything else. This was just something I was going to have to learn to just ride out. 

After a while, Jon jogged back to me and nodded me to follow. 

He clutched my wrist and tugged me after him like an overly enthusiastic puppy, as we made out way towards some people a little further away.

“Jae, I’d like to introduce you to some people,” Jon said, and practically yanked me forward, making me trip to my own feet. My cheeks were flushed and I couldn’t have bitten down my tongue any harder. I tilted my head and looked straight at two men and a woman, who all were smiling, and one of them tried not to chuckle out loud.

“This is Andrew Lincoln, Lauren Cohan and Steven Yeun,” Jon said, and nodded towards them. 

“Guys, this is Jae Howard,” he said, like a proud father. I flinched a little, speechless and unable to say anything.

“Hi,” Lauren started, offering her hand to me, and smiling luminously, “I’m a big fan of yours!” she said, and I thought I saw her blush just a little. What do you know? Them big stars were nervous meeting me?

Hand shaking usually led to things being touchy-feely, like hugging, and that was something where I wanted to draw the line. Most of the time I didn’t shake anyone’s hand, but this time it was unavoidable. I didn’t even have enough time to think, before I just offered my hand over.

“So am I,” Steven piped in, and offered too his hand, I shook them both, and mumbled something, thanking them and then casted my eyes back on the floor.

“We didn’t want to bother you at first, but Andy here wanted to meet you, so we - - we just had to tag along. I listen to your albums all the time,” Lauren said and smiled still.

“Andy,” the second man said, reached over and squeezed my hand a bit. Before I knew it he had pulled me flat against his side and he had wrapped his arm around me, hugging me.

There. There it was – the hugging. I flinched, and felt a jolt of panic course through me like a lightning through a stormy night sky, but I didn’t pull back. I did hug him in return, but much more timidly than he had, which of course wasn’t lost to him or Jon. 

“My wife,” he started, “Is a - - a huge fan of yours. And she’ll never believe if I’ll tell her I’ve met you. Can I take a picture with you?” he said, as he winked and handed his phone over to Steven.

“I.. uh…” I stammered and then nodded a little, because I really didn’t have a chance to back down from the question now. He smiled to the camera and I tried to do the same, but I was afraid that the picture would look like he was going to kidnap me and sell me to white slavery. When Steven handed his phone back to Andy, he and I both glanced at the picture, and to my own surprise I didn’t look half as bad as I had thought. There was a tight lipped smile on my lips, but it was a smile. 

“Thank you so much,” Andy said, and smiled.

“Always n-nice to meet a f-fan. Or t-the h-husband of a fan,” I stammered, stumbling with my words and blushing again.

“God, yes,” he chuckled, “She loves your first album and she’s currently listening through the second one, and I’m expecting her to burn through the CD someday very soon.”

“I’m sure we can find your wife a-another copy of that CD,” I said softly, “Just in case.”

“That would be awesome,” he said with his accent and grinned as he stepped closer, “And if you’d sign it for her, she’d be over the moon!”

I nodded and looked at him quickly, before I ducked my head again. 

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Steven complained.

“W-What?” I asked, my eyes growing wide and I felt my heart thumbing in my chest just a little faster.

“I’m as big fan as Gael is!” 

“You w-want the CDs too?” I asked, and found myself smiling a little more this time.

“With autographs,” Lauren said and nodded vigorously. 

“I believe I can make that happen,” I whispered, like it was a big state secret. 

I turned to look at Jon, who nodded, but there was also an expression of pride on his face when he looked at me. My eyebrows furrowed when I looked over at him trying to question silently what he was trying to say or do. 

He brushed my inaudible question aside easily and stepped next to Steven, “Well, guys, I make sure you’ll get your CDs with autographs,” he said and turned to look at me, “We should head that way.”

I already knew where he was pointing, so I didn’t look. I felt my stomach drop and this awful tight feeling creep around my chest. 

“Hey, that went well,” Jon said, smiling, as we walked side by side towards the steps to the stage, “You just got to get rid of that shyness.”

“I can’t help it, now can I?” I said back looking at the floor, “Wait, you knew about this, didn’t you?” I looked at Jon who grinned and winked. 

“Dick,” I growled and made Jon just burst out laughing. 

Yeah, when I knew a person, I could be slightly more outgoing. There were seriously only few exceptions to this. I hadn’t trusted very many people since childhood. And yeah, when that person was family, I was probably what people would call ‘normal’, only quieter. But when it came to strangers or any new people approaching me, I just couldn’t do it. I just closed all the gates and shut myself into an inner cocoon. Jon knew that, even though he was always, always, pushing the boundaries to get me open up more. 

Another thing about him that I couldn’t blame him for.

Fifteen minutes later, I was standing behind the curtain and waiting to be announced. I cracked my fingers and knuckles hard, and felt my hands trembling. My heart was about to slam through my chest. I had already shooed Jon away because he was making me feel even more nervous than I already was and he said he’d be somewhere in the audience - - telling me also to try and find him, to keep my mind focused at least on something other than the panic that was twirling all around inside of me. 

The announcer did just what he was supposed to do. He called me out, stirring up the crowd and urging them to cheer louder. The sound of the clapping and their calls was deafening. 

And as always, I took a deep breath and walked to the center of the stage with that false sense of bravado, and called out to the crowd, my hands in the air, egging them on even more. I acted like I was feeding of the noise, attention and the applauds, just as I was expected to behave.

“How are you?!” I called out loud and smiling to the people.

The crowd cheered and clapped their hands. I heard people screaming my name. I saw the edge of the stage and the people pressing against it, and it made me loose my concentration for just a fraction of a second. I felt cold shivers run down my spine, as I walked over to the stand and picked up the microphone, watching as the lights dimmed down.

As the music streamed out from the speakers, I started to hum and sway with the music, and as I glanced at the crowd they were doing just the same. 

I turned around, and the spotlight hit on me.

The moment I began singing, my eyes closed, I forgot the crowd, and I forgot my fear. Music had always been my comforter; music had always been that one anchor in the darkness when I was afraid. I sang and listened to the music, and heard the hum of the crowd somewhere far away. I didn’t even bother to search Jon from the crowd. I continued to hum to the end of the music, moving slowly, swaying to the music, my eyes closed, and waiting for the music to end. 

When the music stopped, and the spotlight dimmed again, it became silent. A moment later applauds broke out and I heard screaming, clapping and whistling. 

“Thank you!” I called out, my palms sweaty and my arms trembling as I tried to control my feelings. I had just been shot down from my musical heaven and back to the stage in front of people.

“I’m so glad to be here tonight!” I shouted out, and torrential applauds were what I received as a reply, “You are all so kind and sweet, and inspiring! And as a thank you, I would like to perform a completely new song from my upcoming album!”

The people went insane. They were screaming and I thought I’d need a hearing aid after tonight.

I looked over my shoulder and winked playfully, “I don’t think my manager even knows about this!” Of course Jon knew, I couldn’t be seductive and flirt with the crowd for dear life! This was completely written in thing!

The music started after the crowd quieted down. This time there was no spotlight, just the music, and my voice. This time it was a slow, dragging song I had written out of a whim. But it worked. I sat down on a bar stool they had brought on stage for me and just sang. 

I shuddered when the song ended, but the people began whistling, and clapping their hands. The sound of their screaming was deafening. The lights returned slowly, and I waved my hand and licked my lips, only now realizing how dry they were. I walked over to the side and picked up my water bottle from the chair in the shadows. 

“Alright, calm down now,” I giggled to the microphone, and feeling such a phony – pun unintended.

“This was the first song I wrote and composed,” I said, and heard the music begin slowly, “You all know it, and no, this wasn’t in that show!”

Singing gave me strength to do those unlucky speeches in the middle of them. They were flirtatious and horrible, but I followed the script Jon had outlined for me, because if it was up to me – and it usually never was – I’d stand there silently until the next song.

The song began and I started out softly.

The first song always had a place in my heart. At some point I had realized I didn’t care for it that much, but I always returned to it, because it was a successful song, and it reminded me of how this craziness started in the first place.

Again, I heard the clapping quickly as soon as the song ended. This time I didn’t want to go on with stupidities and waved at the sound technician to start the fourth song, without even glancing at Jon who probably was already trying to do some damage control. I swept my eyes over the crowd and mentally rolled my eyes because they didn’t look at all like they were about to bust out of here and demand a refund.

The fourth song ended, with the same screaming and applauds as the previous ones. Mostly because of the Walking Dead fans. The fourth song had been played on the Walking Dead, thanks to Jon who seemed to be a fan and had stretched his fingers to grasp the show from its balls – again, pun unintended.

I was about to thank the audience and take my leave when I saw Jon standing behind the curtain and skipped over to him.

“Hey, they are loving this,” he said, and pointed behind him with his thumb, “Just got a green light to do two more songs!” I peeked over his shoulder, but there wasn’t anyone. I figured he meant that the powers that be were granting an extension to my little show.

I sighed and nodded.

“That’s my baby girl,” Jon said, squeezed my arm.

I granted him a death glare, frowning a bit, before I walked back to the center of the stage and lifted my arms up in the air, before dropping the microphone down to my mouth.

“You want more?!” I called out loud and the people started to shout. This was at least something I could do, adlibbing it, without having to follow a script; continue the show. 

The music began, and I egged the crowd on. The song, metal and southern rock tossed into a tumble dryer and some lyrics thrown into it, was the heaviest song I had. And as such, I was quite proud of it. I had never thought of writing rock or metal songs, but this had swept me along with it, and I had grown to love it. Only problem with it was that every time I performed it, my throat was sore for the next few days. Too many low notes, too much bass. The son was basically for a male voice, but I still wanted to drabble with it. After the first verse I cursed at myself for being a jackass, a stubborn jackass. Nevertheless, I went through the song without a hitch. 

My throat felt sore when I finished the song, just as I had expected.

The crowd was going wild again, and I motioned them to quiet down a bit.

“Let’s try to keep the roof above us intact,” I chuckled, pointing at the ceiling and waited for the people to go silent.

“I’ve got one more song for you guys,” I called out loud, glancing at the audience. I heard a murmur of disappointment, but I continued, “I mean, you actually came to see those guys who are waiting by those tables and booths, you know, not lil’ old me,” I said, giggling out loud, as I pointed at the guests behind the audience that were scattered around the convention hall.

When I ended the last song, the lights dimmed completely, and remained such for a minute. Then, they returned, and the audience began clapping their hands. I waved to them, and thanked them quickly. After that, I excused for hogging the stage for so long, and urged the crowd to have a wonderful day at the Comic Con. It took closer to half an hour for me to get to the backstage afterwards. I had to sign few autographs, even though I was almost certain that most of the people weren’t sure who the hell I was. I also found myself talking with few fans and even taking few pictures with them, before I managed to slip to the backstage. I had to draw breath at the end of the small staircase and steady myself. My heart was pounding so hard that I was afraid people around might have heard that. My cheeks were burning and I felt powerless, a feeling that always crept up on and left my whole body exhausted after anything public.

But the feeling I had in the pit of my stomach wasn’t the same as I’d had almost every other time. It was different. It was liberating. I always had to keep myself under a strict concentration until I could run behind the curtains and into my dressing room. This time, I actually stayed behind, and talked to people. And these people weren’t as rowdy as some of the concerts I’d had the chance to perform and meet people. Some men - - well, let’s just say that they were much more dangerous than anyone you could have met on a dark street all by yourself. 

I pushed myself off the wall, and made my way to the makeup chair, reaching for my bag and phone that were resting on the table. My hand trembled. As I sat down, someone walked by and congratulated me for the show and handed me a towel.

I had never really gotten used to being waited, but I took the towel anyways, dabbed my neck with it, and scrunching my nose at the gleam I had on my face. Through the mirror I saw Jon walking over to me, with a big grin on his face. 

“That was brilliant, baby girl,” he said, and kissed my cheek.

“Thanks,” I said, exasperated. 

I continued to dab the towel all over my face, to wipe away the sweat. If there was a part of performing I hated – besides the horrifying stage fright – it was the lights that were too damn hot. When I leaned over to place the towel on the table, I felt how the trembling of my hands started slowly to spread all over my body. The adrenaline was wearing off.

“Here, sign this,” Jon said, and handed me my second album on CD. 

I took the CD and frowned, until I remembered why I had to do that. I shrugged my shoulders, and quickly peeled the booklet out of the casing. Jon handed me a Sharpie and I wrote on the cover ‘To Gael, just in case’, and then swooshed on my signature there.

Then, I repacked the booklet and handed the CD case back to Jon.

“Good, great! I’ll take - - wait, you should take it to him yourself,” he started but then changed his mind in mid sentence.

“Jon,” I whispered warningly, picked up a water bottle and took a long sip, about half of the water, before I placed the bottle on the table next to the towel.

“You can do it, baby girl,” he said, poking my arm gently.

“Jon, y-you know I can’t,” I mumbled, and looked up at him, before I ducked my head and settled to stare at the tips of my shoes. 

“Yes, you can,” he said, and handed the CD back to me. I took it over my shoulder and drew a long breath of air, “It’s just a CD. And you’ve already met Andy. Which reminds me, you should bring these to Lauren and Steven,” he added and picked out four more CDs. I glanced at them, and sighed. 

“S-Sure,” I hiccupped.

I knew he was more or less just looking after my public image, and he knew how to keep me feeling safe. He was like the older brother I never had, but still, I would have appreciated it more if he had agreed to take the damn CDs himself. 

“Better fix that makeup of yours,” he said, and looked around himself, trying to locate a makeup artist.

“Nice, Jerk,” I huffed, and reached over the table, picking up the case for loose powder and dabbed some of it on my face. I fixed then the slightly smeared mascara and the eyeliner, adding a touch of more of both. I looked at Jon via the mirror casting a ‘I’m not as helpless as you think I am’ look at him and he actually managed to look sheepish, and scratched the back of his head, feeling only a little embarrassed.

“Sometimes I forget you’re a girl,” he explained, clearly feeling he needed to explain himself to me. I sighed, raising my eyebrow at him, and made him chuckle. 

“No, I’m a boy,” I said, and stood up, smoothed the front of my shirt, and adjusted the belt of my jeans.

“Yeah, well, I think they are back at their tables, respectively,” Jon said, and offered his arm to me. I slid my hand under his, and let him escort me through the backstage to the side entrance. If I had known he was going to accompany me to the tables, I could have shoved the CDs back to him, but now it was too late. 

I just hoped that we wouldn’t run into - - well, him.


	3. Meet'n Greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Comic Con.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never been to one, so if it has mistakes, cry me a river.

With arms locked, we walked through the crowded area, as Jon ushered me towards the Walking Dead tables. I saw other tables, other actors and recognized none of them. I hadn’t even noticed that I had stopped dead on my tracks, until Jon’s arm yanked me after him. Stumbling forward I cursed under my breath. 

“Okay, so the Walking Dead section is right here,” he said, and pointed forward. I nodded.

“There’s probably a bunch of them here so don’t get scared on me, alright?” he said calm, yet I detected a hint of worry in his voice.

“I’m fine,” I said, and followed him.

People passed us without paying much attention to us, but still I kept my eyes casted on the ground and let Jon just lead where ever the hell we were going. There was a nagging feeling in my mind that kept telling me to run, but I tried my best to ignore it. I tried to look like I actually belonged there.

People, lots of people, and all of them were staring at me. I felt a familiar jolt of pain throbbing behind my right eye, and I realized that a headache was brewing in the horizon.

“… and Troy Duffy,” Jon’s voice trickled into my consciousness and I realized he’d been talking for some time now.

“What?” 

He turned to look at me and sighed, “That movie,” he said, “About those crazy Irish brothers, the one which we were watching at the recording studio.”

My eyebrows furrowed, because I still wasn’t caught up with his chain of thoughts. 

“I still don’t f-follow,” I stammered and looked up at him. I did remember the movie, and I remembered I had actually liked it – except I had fallen asleep half way through it. But to my own defense I had bought it later and watched it at home. It was the first time I had seen him. That was two years ago, during the time of my first album’s recording. 

“I said, there’s one of the guys who played those Irish brothers, Sean Patrick Flanery and the director, Troy Duffy,” he said, with a sigh, and bobbed his head towards left.

“Oh, right,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek. 

“That’s it?”

I shrugged my shoulders and looked around myself panicked, “What do you want me to say?” I asked, because I didn’t know how else to answer to him. There were too many people. There were too many shrill screams of excitement and I didn’t want to be there.

“And then there’s that guy,” Jon said, and waved his arm at the tables. 

“W-What guy?” I asked, shuddering. Why didn’t he see I wanted to get the hell out of here? He usually was pretty caught up with things. He knew I didn’t like big crowds, and more often than not refrained himself of forcing me to do things like this, and hardly ever made me strut through a crowd to take few CDs to three people!

“The new media Golden Boy,” he said with a shit-eating grin and I sighed. What ever it was he was yammering about I didn’t want to know, because it only made me stay here longer. I just wanted to get out and go back home.

“Where are they? Andy and Lauren and Steven?” I asked and snapped Jon out of his thoughts. He eyed at the tables and quickly spotted them. He took a tighter hold of my arm and began pulling me towards them.

As we got closer I was surprised how many younger fans were there with their parents. I bit my lip, and frowned just a bit. A girl, no older than maybe eight years old, gave a self made card to Lauren, and she smiled to her genuinely pleased, thanking her and then giving her a hug. I saw how the girl blushed, and quickly hurried to her mother, who thanked Lauren and they exited the table. Wasn’t that show about flesh eating zombies? Zombies eating people alive? How was it that there were so many young fans? I shrugged and thought it would be best to keep quiet, since I wasn’t raising any kids of my own and maybe they were more precocious than I thought. Maybe they just weren’t scared at the make up covered actors. Maybe I was just an exception to the horror genre thanks to my own brush up with reality.

Then I looked at the people waiting in the line. I caught myself holding my breath and quickly released. How did the actors managed to get through this every single time they were at these conventions was beyond me. Jon let go of my arm, staying behind me, and ushered me to the tables.

I saw Lauren and Steven, and then I saw Andy. I smiled weakly, to the three familiar faces. At least there was something that I wasn’t really freaked out about. Just as I was about to get behind the tables, I noticed something right next to Andy. 

Two guys, talking to fans, signing pictures, and admiring some of the gifts their fans had brought. The blonde haired man was laughing out loud at something a fan of his had just said, and stood up offering his hand to the couple. And then, there, next to Flanery, I saw him, wearing his black Ray-Bans and talking to two teenaged girls.

I flinched, when I realized Jon had meant them with his rant.

My stomach sunk when I took the few steps behind the table and tried to think a quick way to deliver the CDs and then slip away and get to my car and back home. I didn’t even know why I was so nervous, because there was absolutely no way in hell he’d actually might recognize me.

When I almost got around the tables, I was stopped by a security guard for few second, but when I showed him the all-access badge hanging around my neck, partially covered by my scarf, and he allowed me to pass.

I walked slowly to Andrew and waited politely until he was finished with the current fan and then touched lightly his shoulder. He turned slowly, already smiling broadly, but when he saw me, he jumped up and chuckled before he stepped to me and grabbed me into a hug. I twitched a little, to this touchy-feely turn of events, feeling like I was choking. Not because he was hugging me too tightly, but because he was hugging me. But when he took a step back, I went for a smile instead of a frown.

“Hey!” he laughed out loud, “That was an awesome gig!” he announced, twiddling a marker between his fingers. I saw him twirl his wrists few times, figuring he was already feeling the pain writing his autograph so many times.

“Thank you,” I replied, ducking my head, looking at the multicolored carpet on the floor, and felt heat creep up on my cheeks. I bit my lip, as I reached into my purse, and pulled out six CDs I had signed for Andy, Steven and Lauren. I offered the two to him, and smiled a little, “I signed it for your wife.”

“Oh, man,” he sighed, “This is going to be perfect! She’ll love them, thank you! I just can’t thank you enough, Jae!” he said, his English accent rolling off his tongue easily, “Oh, man, can I - - can I call you Jae?” he then said flustered when he realized that little slip up of his. 

“Don’t mention it,” I said, and brushed his overly exuberant thanks over quickly, “And yes, you can call me Jae,” I nodded. Ms. Howard was something I had never gotten used to when I had entered into this business.

I felt so confused, how this man and most of the people here could be so intrusive, and be so touchy-feely when I wanted noting of the sort and yet be so comfortable to be around with. As they were hugging me, sneaking into that personal space that I was trying to keep closed from everyone around me, they practically adopted me from the first sight as someone they called a ‘friend’. And what confused me was that I wasn’t sure if it was the acting or was it all real? 

“Good,” he chuckled, grinning. I heard him sigh relieved as if he had been afraid that I’d be upset about that.

“C’mon, I’ll take you to Lauren and Steven,” he said, and pulled me after him.

“Lauren, Steven!” he called and both of them came to us after a short while. I saw also few other actors from the show lurk about but they didn’t approach us, for which I was rather grateful.

“That was awesome!” Steven said, smiling broadly. I ducked my head, mumbled a hasty ‘thank you’ and handed over the two CDs I had promised. His face lit up and he made a face, “Yes! Thanks!”

“It was so good,” Lauren grinned, and draped her arm around my shoulders, before hugging me. I tugged my sleeves down and over my fingers and then handed her two CDs to her. Smiling feebly, because I had suddenly started to feel dizzy. More touchy-feeliness all around and again I wanted to run like a rabbit caught in the headlights. I felt my heart thumping way too hard in my chest. 

“I can’t believe I’ve never heard you sing live,” Steven said, “You’re really good.”

“Hmhh,” I mumbled, as he continued complimenting me. I was just trying not to keel over, “I’m glad y-you liked i-it,” I said, still tugging the sleeves of my hooded college over my fingers and balling my hands into a fist, “It was nice to meet you. Both. I l-like that show of yours,” I replied barely more than a whisper. 

“Don’t worry, not all people watch it,” Lauren leaned forward and grinned at me. I looked at her and realized that she thought I was just being polite. 

“I do watch it, I just don’t know how - - how to praise it like others do,” I stammered, and looked up at her. She tilted her head just a little, and I noticed how her expression changed when her eyes grew big. I realized then that she knew; she knew that I was on the verge of having a panic attack. 

She took a firm hold of my arm and showed me aside, as Steven was about to say something more, waving her arm at him.

“Are you alright?” she asked, and leaned closer, as she seated me on the edge of a side table. 

“I just n-need to have a small breather,” I said and was genuinely grateful that she didn’t broadcast it to the entire convention hall, “It’s just a little panic reaction.”

“It’s OK, take your time,” she said, her hand comfortingly resting on my shoulder.

“Lauren, already hogging our new friend?” Andrew said, as he approached us, smiling, and mainly ignorant of what I was going through. 

“It’s girl talk, Andy, girl talk! Now, be a good boy and give us a moment,” Lauren said and grinned, fluttering her eyelashes at the man. He groaned and turned around spreading his arms, “Girl talk…” I heard him huff at Steven.

“Thank y-you,” I mumbled and finished counting down from one hundred. 

“Don’t mention it. They are like little kids, never grew up I think,” she said and looked at Andrew and Steven and Chandler – the boy who played Carl – goofing about something, “Especially boys. They get all excited and wild eyed when they see a new girl.”

I bit my lip and looked at her and chuckled a little. 

“It’s like they want to show off their Alpha Male routine and see if the girl is into it,” she said, sighing, but then she winked at me. She was trying to calm me down by making me laugh.

“T-Thanks,” I whispered, “For t-this,” I said and circled my finger between us.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said smiling and I nodded. 

“I should be going,” I said, as I stood up from the table feeling all kinds of woozy.

Just as I was about to turn around and slide through the tables and make my way to the backstage, Jon and Andy both appeared to my side, locking their arms quickly with mine. I wanted to murder Jon. If looks could have killed, he’d be a smoking heap of ashes right about now. 

“Hey, I want to introduce you to some people,” Andy said, reached over and taking a hold of my wrist. I gasped, and tried to pull my hand back, but he didn’t see the reaction. 

“I t-think, I really s-should be g-going!” I called out loud, following Andy with shaky steps, even stumbling onto my own feet. 

He dragged me over to Chandler and Emily, both of who were in the show. I probably was still behind in the same level as any teenager, since I got along with that boy better than anyone I had met over the past few years. That or he was just the sweetest ever. 

“Your show was great!” Emily beamed as she, too, hugged me. I shuddered and smiled. Their tendency to hug people just overwhelmed and baffled me to no end. Gritting my teeth together I tried to be as nice and social as I could, answering to their questions and asking some of them myself. I had heard Emily singing at the show, but I hadn’t even realized she had her own albums out. She blushed when I told her that I had loved the song ‘Be Good’, and made a mental note to get her albums for listening. She let me in on a secret that Lauren too loved to sing and she said quite sheepishly that she did sing, but had never done more than just drabbled with it.

“Getting to know new people? Enjoying yourself?” I heard Jon asked as he appeared to my side. He bumped his arm against mine and grinned. Feeling somewhat surprised and ashamed, I casted my gaze down to the floor and nodded.

“I knew it,” he winked at me, “Wanna meet others?” 

I shook my head quickly and turned to look at Lauren and Andy who were now standing there, rest of the cast I had met already back by their tables. 

“I really s-should be g-going now,” I said and smiled timidly. I didn’t even notice that I had been talking to them for quite some time. Probably longer than I had ever talked to people I didn’t know, or had wanted to get to know in the first place. Not that they weren’t nice.

Andy’s face dropped, and Lauren frowned a little, “You should hang around for a while. I’m sure others would like to meet you too,” Lauren said. 

“I’m… I’m not much o-of a p-people person,” I murmured, no louder than a whisper. 

“Hey,” I heard a voice behind us and twirled around quickly, scared witless all of a sudden.

I saw a blonde haired man standing there, hands stuffed into his jeans’ pockets, wearing a grey and blue striped shirt, cowboy boots and a grin that made me feel uneasy.

“Hi, I’m Sean,” he said, extending his arm out and offering it to me. I bit my cheek, and looked up at him eyes wide not knowing what to say or do. I saw him smirk, and then chuckle, before he reached over and took my hand and shook it a little. 

“This is Jae Howard,” Jon chimed in and introduced me and himself to Sean. I was dazed, mostly because he had been bold enough to just saunter over and introduce himself to me. 

“That was pretty cool,” he said, bobbing his head towards the stage.

I ducked my head, bit my lip and fidgeted my fingers nervously. He chuckled a little, smiling broadly and stepped next to me, draping his arm over my shoulders.

“Thank you,” I finally mumbled, and made him smile even broader. 

“Mr. Flanery was in the Young Indiana Jones,” Jon said to me, “And in the Boondock Saints,” adding then and pointing at the tables close by. I saw him grinning. I knew who he was. I had seen both of the Boondock Saints films. Yet, I looked at the direction he pointed.

“Please, call me Sean,” he said, sounding slightly jaded, “Mr. Flanery makes me sound so old, or my Grandfather,” he added, rubbing the back of his neck as he frowned.

I bit my cheek and tried not to giggle. The face he made was indeed partly scared and partly fed up but I realized quickly that he really didn’t want to come off as an old geezer. 

“Sean,” I said and nodded. 

“Yeah, there you go,” he said and winked. 

He seemed to know how to handle women, which made me feel slightly disturbed. 

I was already on the verge of a panic attack when Sean had his arm around my shoulders but when I heard his voice behind us I was ready to faint or break down in tears. My cheeks were flushed and I didn’t think I could do this. But with Andy insisting on it, and Sean stuck to my side, I didn’t seem to have any other choice.

“Jae Howard,” Andy said, and pointed at me, “Norman Reedus.”

My stomach dropped and I was certain I had stopped breathing. I shuddered, and closed my eyes for two seconds, because I knew Sean felt it, as he shifted. I didn’t have the guts to look at him, as he was still rather too comfortable for his own good and stuck to my side. I tried to control myself, but the feelings were thrown around inside of me by a twister way over the Fujita scale. Silently counting down from one hundred I turned to look at him.

“H-Hello,” I faltered and stuck my hand out, feeling it tremble. 

He turned to look at me, his brow furrowing, but I couldn’t read his expression further because of his pesky Ray-Bans. I trembled there as he kept his eyes on me, and the moment felt like it lasted hours. He didn’t lower his sunglasses, he didn’t take a hold of my hand and he didn’t say anything. For a moment, I almost expected him to brush me off as some crazed fan who had tricked Andy to introduce myself to him. 

I felt Sean shift and glanced hastily at him, and then I saw him extending his arm and offering it to me. I took it gently, shook it quickly, and let go. 

“Nice to meet you, Jae,” he said, voice husky, low, making it almost too difficult for me to hear over the buzz that went on in the convention hall.

“Y-You t-too,” I stuttered, not looking at him, but down at the floor, noticing his boots, open and mismatched shoelaces, and pant legs hiked and crunched up by the shaft of the shoes. 

“Loved those songs,” he said, granting me a lopsided smile. I shot my head up, eyes darting at him, taken aback what he said. 

“T-Thanks.”

Now he was more or less staring at me, and made me feel incredibly uncomfortable. I looked down at the floor, and took a deep breath, “Well, it was nice to meet you all,” I said, almost gasping for air with each word, “But I really have to get going now.”

This time I didn’t wait for Andy, Sean, Jon or anyone to say anything more, and I doubt I even expected them to say anything at all, and then waved my hand quickly for goodbye. I brushed past them, nodded to Lauren, Emily and Chandler and skipped quickly past the tables and headed to the backstage door.

When I was certain I was out of their view I stopped and leaned against the wall. I was so near of fainting. I had known it was a mistake to come here; I didn’t even want to meet him! Not because I was dead scared and on a verge of a panic attack, but because I just didn’t want to put myself through that kind of a strain and try to explain him myself, because it was easy to come up with a wrong conclusion. It was way too much excitement for me for one day. I felt sick, as I pushed myself from the wall.

I shouldn’t have done that. The dizzy feeling that followed the action made me wince, and the pain that surged through my body followed quickly in the wake of the blurry eyesight made me panic. My stomach lurched, and I wanted to throw up. I tried to steady myself the best I could, taking support from the wall, as I slowly headed back to the backstage and make up area. I didn’t get far, though. I heard someone call after me and before I managed to turn around that someone had caught up with me.

“Hey! Wait up!”

It was him. I quickly bit my cheek, and stiffened out of nervousness, cursing myself again for being stupid. He stood there for a moment, just looking at me, and making me incredibly worried. When I managed to muster up enough strength to look up at him, one or two quick glances, I waited for him to tell me why he had run after me.

“You’re her, right?” he asked, quickly, words jumbled together, his voice still husky and low, cigarette and whiskey scorched. 

My eyebrows furrowed, my lips parted as if to say something but I couldn’t come up with any words that I could use to express my surprise. Apparently he realized that, because the next he said was, “The girl that was worried about my tired face? On Twitter,” he chuckled, and looked at me through his sunglasses. 

I blushed.

I hadn’t slept in over 24 hours that day I saw his picture where he was jetlagged, and still making conversation with his fans, signing autographs and being an all around Mr. Nice Guy. I hadn’t really thought about it before I had written down an answer and told him that he needed to remember to take care of himself as well, and not just work all the time. I didn’t know it was that comment that had kicked the snowball into rolling down the hill.

He still kept those sunglasses of his on, and I couldn’t determine if he was irritated or intrigued. I hoped for the latter, as I nodded a little, not being able to voice out an agreement. 

He remained silent for a moment, and made me sigh. I dug my fingernails into the palm of my hand as I fisted my hands and still biting my cheek, I stammered, “Y-Yes.”

Suddenly, I wanted to explain why I was there, at this Con, and that I hadn’t even wanted to meet him. 

“I kinda pegged you just one of the fangirls,” he said, and I still had no clue what he was feeling. 

“Didn’t think much of you,” he said, sounding apologetic. My eyebrow arched, as I shot a look at him. I tilted my head, and my hair fell over my eyes, allowing me to glance at him through the thick golden brown curls. I didn’t reply, this was his initiative, and I waited for him to continue. Slowly it was dawning on me that he might just tell me to stay away. I shrugged my shoulders instead, and felt that familiar heat creep up to my cheeks. 

He just remained quiet for an awfully long time and kept looking at me. My legs started to tremble, and I wanted to leave. But, there I stood like frozen yoghurt staring at my feet and waiting for him say something back at me.

“W-Well,” I said finally, voice cracked and trembling, “I’m…”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” he said flustered, “Please,” he continued, waved his hand, gestured down the hall, and stuffed his hands into his jeans’ pockets quickly, “Hey, I hate going all fanlike here but got any of those CDs of yours?” he asked then. He flashed me a lopsided smirk, which made me shrink back quickly and tug my sleeves down, pulling them over my fingers. I saw him notice the gesture, staring at my hands.

“Y-Yes,” I whispered, barely audible, as my voice seemed to have disappeared again, and I wasn’t sure anymore if my legs were trembling out of the tension, or out of my feeling sick as a dog. I reached for the shoulder strap of my backpack, and swung it to the front and opened one of the compartments, pulling out two CDs. Tilting them on my hands and showed the covers to him, as I handed them over, “The f-first album, and the - - second; here,” I explained.

“Oh, wow,” he said, “Thanks. Mingus will love ‘em,” he said, grinning boyishly, as he tugged the cases into the pocket of his hoodie, and before I could spring aside, he had wrapped his arms around my shoulders, and was now hugging me against him. 

I felt woozy. Not because of him, but because he squeezed me flat against him rather hard, and made me feel like I had no space to move about. But then, as quickly he had grabbed and hugged me, as quickly he released me and leaned down to give me a little peck on my cheek. I gasped when I looked up at him and saw him grin and then run quickly back to the desk where he should have been for this entire time, meeting up with fans. That little peck of a kiss burned on my cheek for that evening. And when I woke up the next morning, throat sore, and feeling sick as a dog, it was more or less the only thing that made me smile.


	4. Rainy Day Panic Attacks

On a very rainy Tuesday afternoon about five months after the Comic Con performance I shivered under an awning and glanced up at the sky. It wasn’t showing any signs of seizing the rain, so I stood there and watched the puddles forming on the street. It was comforting to see the water drip down to the street from the trees, and from the fabric of the awning that spread on top of me. The droplets hit the asphalt, and the puddles, making them grow bigger and form more puddles. As I leaned against the brick building, I watched the droplets bounce before shattering down into the water, making ripples on the surface.

I sighed. 

People were running past me, none stayed underneath the shelter of the awning, but I didn’t mind at all. They were in a hurry to get into their homes, and too distracted by their own lives and worries to stop and wait the rain pass. 

I on the other hand didn’t have anywhere to be at that particular moment, no one to see, so why would I want to spend the day running from place to place. I huffed, and sat down on the ledge of a window behind me. There was an empty office behind the glass, and there was no need to be polite and not sit. I shed my backpack from my shoulders and opened it, pulling out my college sweater. 

I was slowly feeling cold, as I was soaked through and through. My T-shirt was wet and thought I could have entered the wet T-shirt competition and probably won it. I slid the sweater on, pulling my arms underneath it after I had zipped it up. The limited space inside the sweater caused me to fight and fumble, as I wiggled and tugged the wet shirt off over my head. I slid my hands back into the sleeves and crunched the wet shirt and threw it in the backpack, immediately feeling a whole lot better wearing a dry shirt. The sweater was warm and soft, but it wasn’t water proof. I decided to wait the rain out until I would continue.

“Hey!” I heard a voice call out loud. 

At first I didn’t pay any attention to it, thinking that it was probably meant for someone else. But then, there is a black SUV rolling into the line of my sight and the car door opens from the driver’s side, and I realized who ever the person was, was indeed calling for me. The person driving the car, the one calling out for me, didn’t step outside even though the door was open now. 

I leaned forward and tried to see who it was, as the people ran past me and made it difficult to focus on the car, and the person sitting inside. It wasn’t Jon’s car because it was black. He drove a big ass white car on his own. 

There was something vaguely familiar about the person finally standing up from the car - - Norman.

“Hey, Jae!” he called out again, this time using my name. He held an umbrella on his hands, waving at me. I remained seated, and wiggled my fingers at him just a little, hoping he’d come over to me, or just drive off. I saw him smile a little, and then he waved his hand, motioning me to come over. 

There it was, the thing I was afraid of, and I hesitated. There was a reason after all why I usually walked everywhere or used a bicycle to get around. But he didn’t know about it.

Sighing very deep, I gathered my backpack, quickly zipping it up, and skipped over the puddles to the car. 

I saw him smile, as I reached for the door handle and pulled it open. He’d already sat down once I sat down on the front seat and pulled my feet inside. Unfortunately, for once in my life I didn’t think and yanked the door, slamming it shut after me. 

I felt it instantly; the constricting feeling on my chest.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” he said, grinned like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. He had his Ray-Bans on, wearing a black T-shirt, loose fitted dark jeans and a dark grey, hooded sweater.

I didn’t know where to look, when I tried for his eyes, all I could see was the distorted reflection of myself. I felt like the car was being squeezed and I dug my nails into my palms as I squeezed my fingers tightly into a ball. 

“H-Hi,” I mumbled back, and let my gaze drop down, my wet hair fell in front of my face quickly. I tried to mask that as an attempt to straighten out my shirt, and my jeans, but I think he caught up on it. 

“So what are you doing here walking in the rain?” he asked, looked at me intently.

I bit my lip and shifted in the seat, “I was just w-walking back home,” I said, barely audible.

“Walking? In New York?”

“I li-like walking,” I hiccupped, granting him one quick glance, before returning to stare at my hands in my lap. I know how absolutely deranged that sounded like. But I learned early on that if I wanted to get out of the house at all, I would have to find ulterior ways of traveling because cars, subway and buses just weren’t for me. I bit my lip, as I looked around in his car, and counted the seconds when that gnawing feeling inside me would turn into a full blown panic attack.

“Walking? In New York?” he reiterated and blinked few times as he stared at me. 

“I guess y-you drive e-every where?” I asked, trying not to stutter, but couldn’t help myself. I had always hated the fact that I stuttered when I grew nervous and it made me sound like an insecure 12 year old girl. 

“No,” he chuckled, “I walk, too. Cab, use my car, sure,” he said, ranting in defensive mode.

I didn’t reply to him, instead, I tried to calm my breathing.

“You look wet,” he said, with a chuckle – maybe out of nervousness – and I glanced at him through my indubitably wet hair. I smiled, just a bit, and quickly retracted my gaze, but nodded to him anyways, biting my lip, “That’s what happens in the rain,” I said softly.

“You should do that more often, you know,” he said, resting his left arm on the steering wheel, and the right hand on his knee. He was relaxed, leaning slightly towards me. I shivered, from the cold, from anxiety, from fear, what ever, but I did.

“Be w-wet?” I asked, confused, and shot him a look, before quickly averting my eyes and equally fast thinking how wrong that had sounded out loud. I felt heat creeping up to my cheeks, and the gnawing feeling taking up on wings, fully hatching into a scary panic attack monster. 

I heard him chuckle louder now, “Smile, Sweetheart, smile,” he said, and brought his hand up, running his finger under my chin, lifting my head up a bit. The gesture was intimate, surprising, and I gasped out loud when I suddenly was touched by him out of the blue. I closed my eyes, and bit my cheek. I was behaving like a virgin on a wedding night! 

No. I had to kill that monster. I had to beat it back into the cave. I had to concentrate and distract myself from - - this! This was absurd! I just had a crush, even though I very well knew I shouldn’t have. I took a deep breath.

I had to - - concentrate. I trembled and stammered something incoherent to him.

My palms started to sweat, and my heart began pounding in my chest so hard that I was afraid he’d hear it. I was quickly feeling as if I was drunk, floating about in a river of panic and fear, swimming forward in that muddy water, unable to move forward but unable to stop treading.

“Why you got to be so shy?” he asked, shaking his head, “I don’t bite.”

I let out a nervous chuckle, turning to look at him, shrugging my shoulders as if to answer to him that I didn’t know why I felt shy, before I saw him brandishing his phone. A momentary shock that flooded over me pushed the fear and panic aside for a second, when I realized that he’d just taken my picture. 

“You didn’t?” I whispered in frightened, my hand rising to my lips, as I gasped out loud.

He winked at me and pocketed his phone. What the hell was he doing? Was this normal behavior with people nowadays?

He stopped my thoughts by sliding his hand against my cheek, tilted my head so that he could see my eyes, before he brushed the wet strands of hair behind my ear. I felt uncomfortable and out of place, and I wanted to scream and tell him to stop, but all I did was - - just sat there and looked at him. 

“You’ve got such a pretty smile, and you’re always hiding it,” he said gently, almost too quiet for me to hear him. The honking of the cars and the sounds of the rain drumming against the windshield of his car covered most of his husky, low voice. 

Right now I wished the streets of New York that were never silent, would have been silent for just this once. 

“Y-You don’t e-even know me,” I whispered back, and stared at him in what I assumed was pure shock. 

This time he grinned, and laughed out loud, “I know you’re not a bad person.”

I kept my eyes on him, when he reached for ignition and started the car, “So, where to?” he asked and looked at me. 

“I – uh – I don’t…” I stammered, as I struggled for words that wouldn’t come out. He smiled sliding his Ray-Ban’s off, looking at me with his blue eyes that screamed ‘tired’ at me. I suddenly felt like I was cornered into a place where I had no escape, and I shifted in the seat, pressing myself against the door. My hand slid down to find the handle of the door, as my breathing grew more rapid; the damn car seemed to start to shrink down like I was down the rabbit hole and the white rabbit had given me too much of the growing potion. 

“Jae?” his voice came like from under water. 

“I’m – uh – I’m s-sorry, I got to…” I stammered again, feeling my breathing reaching new heights, and I started to feel dizzy. The car - - I could have sworn it was spinning. I felt his right hand quickly on my knee, and his left hand reaching over to my cheek, and it made me gasp and clutch the seat. 

“Jae? What’s wrong?” he asked, still sounding like I was underwater and he was trying to reach for me from the shore. 

“It’s… it’s just a - - a pa-panic attack…” I mumbled, gritting my teeth together, fumbling to find the handle to open the door. 

“A what?” he asked, eyebrow arching, and a little chuckle escaping from his lips; almost like he didn’t believe me.

“I - - I got to go,” I gasped, pushed his hands aside, and finally got the door open. I climbed out, stumbling onto the street, and slammed the door shut behind me, as I tried to calm my breathing, drawing steady, deep breaths. I felt the car engine come to a stop, and the door on his side of the car open, as he stepped outside, before he circled around over to me. 

My heart rate dialed down immediately when I was out of the car, and the surprise that he actually followed me outside made the panicky feeling push back also. I clutched the straps of my backpack, eyeing at the sky that still was grey and pouring down water with ardor. Within seconds he looked like a soaked poodle, standing there and looking at me worried and trying to figure out if I was indeed alright. 

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, “I really have to get going now,” I added, quickly sliding the backpack on my back and taking a step.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said, reaching over my shoulder, “No, please, I just want to be sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” I chuckled, trying to bring more pep into my voice. I’m always alright, I thought but refrained from saying it out loud.

“Please, just get in the car, and I’ll drive you home, or where ever you want to go,” he said, almost pleading. I looked at him, through the strands of my hair again. He sounded sincere, and worried. Maybe he was. I couldn’t tell. 

“That’s what is causing it,” I said, pushed myself from the car, and started for walking down the street. I heard quick footsteps, car door shut, and car alarm engage. And then he had already run me down.

“What a-are y-you doing?” I asked, bounced a step away from him, nearly bumping into a man I didn’t see coming straight at me. I stuttered an apology but he just scoffed and walked around us briskly. 

“Hey, if you aren’t going to get in the car,” he said, “I’m making sure you get home safe,” he said slow, as he tugged his cap on deeper. Looking around, as if to make sure, I noted few glances shot towards us, mostly at him. Hardly ever anyone recognized me on the streets, because I looked so different on my CD covers and other promotional pictures. But him…? His everyday look was too much like Daryl Dixon and someone was bound to recognize him sooner rather than later, and I didn’t want it to become an issue in the middle of a New York sidewalk – in rain, I might add.

“Oh, geez, are you c-crazy?” I gasped, “They’ll re-recognize you!” I stammered, fighting to bring out the words, and tried to stop him and make him turn around and return back to his car; somewhat hard thing to do when I couldn’t bring myself to actually touch him. 

“So, then they will,” he huffed, “I’m not gonna let you walk home alone, after - - what ever that was,” he said, pointing his thumb back towards his car behind us.

“I c-can take care of myself,” I whispered and ducked my head, “I’ve lived in New York all my life!” 

His T-shirt was already soaked, and clung onto his skin like saran wrap. My sweatshirt was slowly becoming equally soaked. 

“I’m still kinda worried,” he said, and followed me when I turned around and began walking again. He set his pace with mine. I glanced at him once, before I turned to look at my feet that stomped the street. There was water all around my boots, and wiggling my toes I could tell my socks were already wet.

“C’mon,” he said, coaxing, “Let me give you a ride back home, ok?” he asked, this time reaching to touch my arm. 

I shivered and bit my lip hard, and caught myself nodding. What else I could have done? He smirked when I nodded, and as we turned around, his hand quickly made its way to the small of my back, as he guided me in all very gentlemanly way back to the car.

He unlocked the doors, opened the front door for me and waited until I was inside before he shut the door, running around quickly. He entered the car with a jump and slammed the door shut. I twiddled with the wet sleeve of my sweatshirt as I carefully viewed him. He seemed giddy that he had managed to change my mind and that he could drive me home. I couldn’t help but think if this was a mistake, I didn’t even know him. 

“You ok?” he asked, as he started the car once more and took a quick look to see if there was a gap in the traffic that he could take an advantage of. 

“Yes,” I whispered and bit my lip.


	5. Halfhearted Explanations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Misheard song lyrics are so much fun.

I sat in the front seat silently and kept squeezing my fingers into a tight fist. My fingernails dug into my sweaty palms and I tried not to tremble and fidget. The wet sweatshirt made me shift in the seat uncomfortably, as it clung onto my skin, prickling it with the cold and making me shiver. It was a distraction from the slowly gathering feeling of being unable to breathe. It was the seatbelt; the reason number one why I couldn’t drive. He’d told me to put it on at the first stop we’d had to make. I’d put it on, because I didn’t want to cause any trouble. And now I was gasping for air like a fish on dry land. It was like that seatbelt was strangling me, and I felt like the car with me in it was stuck in a car crusher. 

I tried to keep my eyes on the street, and on the people instead of demanding him to stop the vehicle and let me out. I didn’t know how to explain myself to him, or if I even should. Beyond Twitter following and meeting him at the Comic Con we weren’t exactly best friends. I figured he had done his part being polite by offering me a ride back home because of the way I acted and because of the rain - - but what the hell was the talk about my smile and taking that picture all about? The way he had touched me was too intimate for my comfort.

I bit my lip and fought back a chuckle. Yeah, he was probably giving some of his best moves at me, I suppose and I had went all Jack Nicholson - The Shining cuckoo right there. How sane and normal was that? 

“Here?” he asked suddenly, pulling me out of my thoughts. I shot a look up and saw that we had turned onto the Grand Street, and were approaching the Elizabeth Street. 

“Yes,” I replied softly, “Just turn right on the next corner. It’s that brown brick building.”

As soon as I saw my apartment building, and the fire escapes that coursed the façade of it I sighed out of relief. Maybe if I didn’t speak so much, then maybe he’d let this thing just slide. He had done his gentlemanly deed of the day, by bringing me home, saved me from the rain.

“I live few blocks from here,” he said then, out of the blue.

“Oh…” I mumbled, trying to play it as casual as I could. In reality I was rather surprised. Didn’t all these movie stars live in Los Angeles or at least on the Upper West Side? And why would he divulge that information to me?

He looked at me, brow furrowing as I looked at him waiting him to say something. He looked as if he, too, was surprised by the fact that I didn’t know where he lived. Was I supposed to know? I was confused. So, I just picked the backpack from the floor and turned towards him, “Thank you for the ride,” I thanked hastily and opened the car door.

I heard him sigh, and I glanced over my shoulder just in case, “Are you sure you’re alright?” he questioned eyeing at me through his Ray-Ban’s. 

“Of course,” I replied, smiling just a little, trying to brush it off, “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Always alright, I repeated my own thoughts in my mind, biting the inside of my cheek.

“Look, I got this - - thing and I’m supposed to be there already, but I was just - -,” he started, at first looking at the clock on the car’s dashboard, and then looking at me, “I was just thinking if you need to go to a hospital or something, I guess, I could take you there. Because I’d be happy to… yeah…” he said, words jumbling into each other as he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.

Adorably nervous, I thought again, but then quickly shaking my head to rid myself from such thoughts. 

“I’m fine,” I said, trying to sound as calm as possible, “Really. Don’t worry about me. I’m absolutely fine.”

I knew I wasn’t; that once I got into my apartment, I’d take a shower and cry myself to sleep. As I looked at him, he didn’t say anything else. He just sat there silently, and I was grateful for that. I didn’t want to start to defend my actions, because I could read it from his face that he was calculating the easiest way to Beth Israel right about now. It was kind of heart warming to see him care enough to willingly drop out of what ever function he had planned on for that day. But, doctors wasn’t something I needed right now. Shower, bed and sleep were the only things I really craved and needed.

I moved to open the door further, “I’ll… I’ll go now,” I said, like I needed to announce what I was about to do before stepping out.

Once I got out of the car, he reached for his keys, again, and the engine came to a halt once more. He reached over to the back seat and pulled out a leather jacket before he climbed out of the car, locking the doors, and engaging the car alarm. He jogged quickly around the vehicle and threw the jacket over his shoulders, sliding his arms into the sleeves. He looked at me, nervously still, and fiddled with the keys in his hand, “I don’t usually drive in New York, I hate it actually – it’s a bloody nightmare – but the thing I had and the rain,” he started to explain himself, but I interrupted him by waving my hand. I looked up at him, smiling timidly before I quickly ducked my head and eyed my shoes with such vigorous interest. 

“I get it,” I said, “Thanks for the ride anyways. I could have walked.”

“It was raining, you know,” he replied, “Can’t have you get a cold and sore throat, now can I? Anyway, I’ll take you to your door,” he said, and frowned, before I felt his palm press against the small of my back, and pushed me gently toward the door. 

“Oh… N-No! You have that t-thing you said! You - - y-you said it yourself you needed to go,” I stopped and turned around, my hand slamming gently against his chest. I quickly pulled my hand away, like the jacket of his had burned me, and kept staring at him like he was insane. Seriously, if someone was insane, it was probably me. What was he saying? He couldn’t just drop everything he had in his life just to escort me to my door, because he wanted to make sure I was alright! He couldn’t just drop things off his calendar for a girl he hardly even knew.

“I can’t let you do that,” I stammered, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He shook his head, shushing me, and then whispering, “I wanna make sure you’re alright, is that okay with you?” he said, with a smirk, and then he added, “C’mon,” before he ushered me to the front door of the building and into the corridor. 

The building was silent, and the voyeur was empty, as we walked across the black and white tile floor to the elevator door. He moved to press the button, but I shook my head as I stepped to the first stair.

“I’m inside the building now,” I declared, turning to look at him, once again trying to get him to leave. 

He glared at me for just a moment, but, apparently his pride – or what ever it was, male stubbornness maybe – didn’t allow him to back down now and he jogged after me to the stairs. Four flights up, and we reached my hall way. 

I noticed him being slightly winded, but I suppose anyone would be winded if they weren’t used to take the stairs every day. He followed me as I walked down the pale and brightly lit hall to my dark grey colored door. I reached for my keys from my jeans, but I hesitated for a moment. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, before I turned around and forced myself to look up at him in the eye. 

“Is this s-some kind of an attempt to g-get in my pants?” I asked, again daringly, but my trembling voice cut only a little into the boldness of the question. My hand was on the door handle, my key ready to be inserted into the lock. My hand, my whole body trembled, almost violently so, while I waited for his answer, afraid of what he might say.

Men had never let me go easy in this life. What ever it was that turned them on – my shyness, my awkwardness – turned them into beasts, liars and monsters as I’d noticed that in the past. But he hadn’t really behaved anything but a pure gentleman during the entire drive. Granted I had known him personally for a grand total an hour all together.

It was indeed possible that once he got wasted at some bar, he was a complete dick, or maybe he was after yet another conquest to ditch in a ‘wham bam thank you ma’am’ style. I didn’t know him! How could I not ask that?

“No,” he said, shaking his head a little, his face otherwise serious.

I tilted my head, as if to calculate if I should open the door or not. But I believed him, and finally unlocked the apartment door. I stepped in, followed by him, and quickly switched on the lights.

I dropped my backpack on the floor as I kicked off my shoes, and spied him from the corner or my eyes. He let his gaze wander around my apartment, making me wait for a reaction. 

“Wow,” he breathed out loud.

Yes, I had a good place here. It was a big, top floor apartment, with access to the roof top. I had painted almost all of the apartment white, but the floors were vaguely pale grey in color, and there were airy self-made curtains on the large windows covering just the lower part of them but allowing the natural light stream through the upper part of the window. I had nothing but a large white bookshelf in the living room, and the large white couch in the middle of the large living area, with a big shaggy and red carpet in front of the couch. 

“Wow,” he replied again and looked at me.

“What?” 

“It must be bigger than my place,” he said, with a grin, “And mine is in two floors, plus an access to a terrace.”

“There’s an access to the roof in mine, too,” I said, and walked to the back of the apartment, opening the door that lead to the bedroom, “It’s just through the bedroom… there’s a door and stairs. I doubt this is bigger than your place,” I shrugged, “It’s just the paint job. White just creates the illusion of it being bigger.”

“It’s amazing,” he said, scratching the scruff of his chin. I smiled just a little as reply.

He turned around and looked at the one white, solid load-bearing wall I had more or less wallpapered with photographs, paintings, notes and music sheets as I disappeared into the bathroom to go find some towels. 

I also picked up two sweatshirts and walked back into the living room, finding him still engrossed by the wall of art of mine, “You did all this?” he asked, pointed at the wall, and wandered slowly from picture to picture, tilting his head as he read the notes, or the music sheets.

“Uh, yeah, all but the paintings,” I replied, nodding, one hand on my hip, other gesturing towards the wall, as I looked at him. 

“He-Here,” I stammered, as I reached over to hand him a towel. He took it holding it in his hand as he kept eyeing at the pictures. I quickly brought my towel over my head and dried the ends of my hair vigorously before tossing the towel on the couch. 

“I don’t know if this’ll fit you, but… Yours is kinda soaked there,” I said, and placed a black sweatshirt on the couch cushions before I hurried into the bathroom to change my wet clothing. Quickly taking the wet clothes off, I replaced them with new pair of jeans and another sweatshirt.

When I emerged back from the bathroom, he had changed his wet shirt into the one I had given to him, and it fit him perfectly. The towel he still had casually thrown over his shoulder. 

When he saw me walking into the living room, he glanced at me and smiled a little. He was genuinely curious, looking at the pictures, paintings and glancing at the notes and music sheets every now and then. He kept tilting his head to read the notes on the wall, or look at the pictures from different angles. I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. The situation was fairly new to me and I wasn’t sure how to act accordingly. 

He chuckled at the lyrics or some of the goofier pictures taken, or commented them very kindly. I smiled to myself, and walked over to my couch. I sat down, scooting back, cross legged. The awkward feeling melted away when he didn’t seem to mind me not offering him refreshments but he was content just to go from picture to picture and look at them. It was oddly soothing too. 

After looking at the pictures for quite some time, he turned to look at me, and walked over to the couch. 

“Those are pretty good,” he said then, turning still to look intently at the wall covered with pictures. I had heard he loved photography, but somehow it made me feel embarrassed, because my pictures were just from those pretty landscapes, cute animals, or what ever I found beautiful or breathtaking. He was the one with enough artistic eyes to take pictures of things that weren’t beautiful but made them look like such anyway. 

“Thanks,” I mumbled, “Just somewhat of a hobby, for inspiration.”

“What about the paintings?” he asked and gave another look at the large canvasses that hung on the wall. 

“I bought them three years ago, when I moved here. They were made by these siblings who were going to the New York Academy of Art and had their first exhibit put together with their classmates,” I replied. 

“They are pretty awesome too,” he nodded. I bent my head again, staring at the couch cushions. We both were quiet. All I heard was the traffic outside. I felt him shift on the couch, and turned to look at him. He was still sitting on the other end of the couch, but he was looking at me. Didn’t he just want to take me to my door and then leave? 

“So,” he said, and looked at me, and I heard from his voice that he, too, was feeling awkward. 

“So?” I asked back.

“Care to tell me about what happened in the car?” he asked, leaning his arm against the back of the couch casually. It made me blush. I didn’t want to dwell into that, but if he was staying in for that, I suppose I would have to tell him. 

“I thought you had to be somewhere,” I whispered.

He frowned, brow furrowing as he took his time to reply to me. I felt bad by bringing up his previous engagement what ever it had been, but I didn’t want him to stay if he truly had to go. I didn’t want make him feel obligated to monitor me and my wellbeing. 

“It wasn’t anything important,” he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, “I can reschedule it easily.”

I mumbled an inaudible ‘oh’ as a reply, while thinking about what it could have been, my mind bringing forth all kinds of strange scenarios from jury duty to funerals, and everything in between. 

“Tell me? Please?” his voice husky and low again, and I sighed. 

“I - - I, uh, I’m fine, really,” I whispered, “I really don’t want to keep you from your plans. This is just something I’ve learned to live with and I know it scares the crap out of people who - -,” I rambled until he stopped me, and chuckled.

“It’s alright. I can reschedule. I just want to know,” he said, way too kindly.

“I was 13,” I said, looking down at the red carpet.

“Something happened?” he asked, looking at me, like I was about to reveal some dark and horrible secret that had happened.

“Yes,” I sighed, “Something did happen. Cancer.”

I heard him breathe out loud, probably relieved that my secret wasn’t my uncle molesting me or my father beating the shit out of me. He shifted in his seating, and scooted a little bit closer to me.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing, really,” I said, shaking my head a little, again trying to brush it off as stupid childhood memory, “I shouldn’t even bother you with this. It was just a little panic attack, nothing bad. I’ve had it worse.”

“Why?”

I chuckled, shrugging my shoulders, looking at him as he frowned slightly, as he tried to understand, “I’ve - - claustrophobia, I get anxious in big crowds, I just don’t… trust people,” I stammered.

I saw him look around the living room. He now could see why I had such an open, large apartment; now he could understand easily why there were so little furniture, or other belongings in the first place. Well, there was, but all of those things were tucked away neatly in the closets. 

“How?” he asked, and I was still amazed how he could be interested in this, how he still wanted to hear.

Slowly, very slowly, I was growing impatient at myself and my lack of decision making. The entire apartment seemed to collapse down on me. I shivered, slid my feet on the floor, and pushed myself up off the couch. His eyes followed me as I paced back and forth on the carpet. I felt I needed have at least some distraction from all this. I reached for the remote, and clicked it once pointed at my computer and turned on the music, the volume on low. 

“Um…” I mumbled, and bit my cheek, and took a deep breath, when the music changed and started to play that one song that made me smile every single time, because I always, always, heard the lyrics just so wrong. 

“Jae?” he asked, when he saw me smiling a little. 

“Okay, I’ll tell you, but only because this is my theme song,” I said, pointing my thumb towards the speakers, “Look Through My Ass.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me, blinking few times, before he stammered out loud sounding confused, “Eh, I think, it’s ‘Look Through My Eyes’.”

“No, no, just hear me out,” I said shaking my head as I smiled a little bit more now, “There were several complications in the beginning. Not just with the cancer diagnosis. I think that was a cake walk in the end. But after the cancer diagnosis, after the treatments started, I did have an adverse reaction to the medication and to the chemotherapy, and they had to switch me from medication to medication, over and over and over again. I think I was dying the whole while they were figuring out what to do and how to treat me.”

He nodded to show me he was listening, as he turned to follow me as I made my way around the couch. He looked like a curious little boy resting his chin against the back of his hand and the back of the couch. 

“Then one day they just tell us that I was suffering from multiple organ dysfunction syndrome. After that it was just a lieu of MRIs, blood work, EKG, biopsies, CT scans, I went through it all. I don’t know if you’ve ever had an MRI, but they kind of slide you headfirst into this excruciatingly tiny tube, and tell you to calm down and lay still. I was 13, how could they even think I could have done that?” I sighed. 

I moved around the couch again, and sat down on it, on the other end, bringing my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. 

He looked at me, and the expression he bore wasn’t curious anymore, it was more or less sad, with some anger lingering in his eyes. I knew that look, because I’d had that same look as well, I had been sad and I had been so very angry at my parents and at the doctors and nurses trying their best to save me.

“I spent days, weeks, months, in the hospital, just being monitored if I might have gone into cardiac arrest or if my kidneys decided that - - that maybe today was the day they didn’t want to cooperate with my body anymore,” I said, shuddering.

“So, every time when they wheeled me into the MRI, and that creepy guy behind the glass told me to lay still and relax, I usually closed my eyes and sing from the top of my lungs any song that ever popped into my head. After about ten times it was always that one song that kept me still, because it made me laugh and it relaxed me. Phil Collins singing with full symphony orchestra and violins and feelings and the Ghost of Walt Disney and everything ‘Look through my aaaaaaaaass!’,” I said and looked at him as I sung out loud the lyrics. 

Norman’s shoulders shook with laughter. He actually lowered his head, closed his eyes, and let himself do nothing but laugh for a while. I bit my lip, and tried not to giggle out loud myself. I knew it wasn’t a happy story, but from certain aspects it was funny one. I beamed a little, allowing myself feel proud, just from making him laugh.

He let out one small laugh and lifted his head, looking at me, still smirking, “That’s where your claustrophobia came from, the MRI, the tiny tube,” he didn’t ask, he stated, nodding his head.

“No.”


	6. Too Much Love Killed The Mockingbird

What really happened was that every day at school I started to feel tired. Then one day I just collapsed from sheer exhaustion at class. The school nurse informed my parents and they wheeled me off to see a doctor. It took full blood work, tumor markings, protein testing and biopsies before they found out I had leukemia. The doctors told me and my parents that I needed treatment that would actually make me feel a whole lot worse than the disease itself, to which I told them where to go. 

I’m sure, everyone thought it was because I’d lose my hair, but truthfully speaking the problem was more that not once did I feel like I was dying. I just knew I was dying, but only because they told me so. All I felt was exhaustion, to the point of not wanting to wake up in the morning, and what I had learned from them from chemotherapy I would feel like I was dying. Out of those two choices, I rather wanted to feel tired, instead of - - dying, which made all the differences to it. 

And as a reaction to that, I was directed to the hospital’s child psychologist to convince me to change my mind. She was a hoot and a half! At first her idea was to start a blog online where I could tell my story, and then it escalated into joining into a supportive group for adolescent cancer patients, but the last idea, to sign up for a summer cancer camp, was the worst. Hey, it’s okay! Cancer can be so much fun! I told her to stuff that blog, cancer camp, and all the support groups ever invented into where the Sun doesn’t shine.

After that there were a lieu of other psychologists, most of which used tough love method. I’d lived through thirteen and then some years of tough love from my dad. But, long story short, my father got fed up with me anyways and he said I was killing him and my mother. Accusations and cursing was thrown on both sides, but finally my dad said that if I didn’t go to the reserved appointment, and let the put that IV in my arm, and smile all the way through it, there would be no more computer or internet, no TV, no phone, no friends to meet or music. It was a low blow from them, that’s for sure, because they both knew how much I loved music and how much I loved to sing.

I don’t know what it was but I figured it was out of revenge to my dad’s ultimatum. I ran on our way to the hospital. I just got out of the car and - - and ran for it. I ran down the 1st Avenue, running for my life. I ran until I couldn’t run anymore. I didn’t get far, I don’t even know why I thought I would. I made it past ten blocks maybe and around the corner there, I collapsed in front of the Clearview Cinemas front doors. It was about this time of year, a little bit chillier maybe, but there were flowers. New flowers planted recently for the spring, and there I was dying in the flower pots of a New York movie theater. 

Well, of course my parents wouldn’t let me die like that. They called the cops on me. I tried to run from them but, I was still out of breath and my legs were pretty much Jell-O. They caught me, tackled me like I was some kind of a criminal and they handcuffed me, all the while I was kicking and screaming. They drove straight to the hospital I was supposed to be and as soon as they stopped in front of the ER door, and tried to pull me out of the car, I started kicking again. So, they strapped my legs together with cable ties around my ankles. I had handcuffs on my wrists, cable ties on my ankles, so it was easy for them to pick me up, and drag me inside like a sheep going to slaughter. My mother didn’t even get out of the car, she was crying in the passenger seat and my father was so pissed off, I had never seen him that mad before. He just followed the officers and me inside, and to the elevator. At the ward I was tossed up on a stretcher, and took of my cuffs and cut off the cable tie, but they stayed to help hold me down, while the nurses and orderlies put bed restraints on my ankles, wrists, over my shoulders and thighs, all the while they just wheeled me down the hall.

The doctor trailed us into the room and through my screaming and thrashing I heard him tell my father that I was borderline age where they would have to ask my opinion, and respect it, and maybe try counseling for a longer period in order to seek out my consent! He said that it was also the borderline time when if they wouldn’t do anything I’d be at high risk of treatment failure no matter what they would try out later. 

My dad just said he knew all that shit. He knew and still he wanted to force that decision over me. He told the doctor that he’d heard it all from all the psychologists and that I’d remain combative and not consent the treatment. He practically forced that IV into my arm no matter what. Strap her down and do it, that was what he said to the doctor and I will never forget it.

In order to start the chemo, they had to give me a tranquilizer, and the moment they injected it, I felt it. They took the restraints off, and I though I could get the hell out of dodge, but I couldn’t move. It was like the restraints were still there. I passed out, woke up later two steps from the grave, pumped full of all kinds of medication and poison. 

From that moment on, I went willingly and docile into every session they arranged for me, because I didn’t want to be tied down again.

I got better for a while. Then I started dying again. And I kept reminding my parents of that decision they made for me. 

“Of course, dad could never appreciate it. I know they were thinking what was best for me, but I was the right age, and I could have had the choice. They chose for me and now they expected me to have a quick recovery and be happy about it,” I sighed, “So, for the next three years I kept on dying and coming back to life before the last resort, the last medication they could come up with, a trial based, new drug finally did the trick. Four and a half years after the initial diagnosis I got finally a clean bill of health from the cancer, but I still have to eat certain medicine – probably for the rest of my life – because of all the problems with the multiple organ dysfunction syndrome and the problems it caused to me.”

I closed my eyes, and looked up at the white ceiling.

He looked at me, silently. I hadn’t noticed that he had shifted closer to me. His hand was now resting on my shoulders, his thumb rubbing my left shoulder, and I felt a twinge of guilt, all over my body, I really shouldn’t have said anything. This wasn’t like talking to a girlfriend. I barely knew him!

“So, because of my parents’ decision to choose for me, I developed a severe case of claustrophobia, and the fear of being tied down is closely linked to that. I know how to calm myself if I start to feel the walls closing in on me, but the fear of being tied, being helpless to the point where I can’t make my own choices, that’s worse, and I can’t control it once it hits. New situations tend to trigger it and that’s what happened in your car. And then there is the fact that I can’t use seat belts either. I don’t know how I managed to control myself without just jumping out of the car when you told me to put that seat belt on,” I said shaking my head, and stayed silent for a while, “But then again, I can’t really use a car either, so the seat belt usage isn’t a problem, because it feels like the whole car is stuck in a car crusher and I’m about to be squashed. Nowadays it’s just mostly about being scared of people because I haven’t really socialized with anyone since the cancer diagnosis. It’s hell for me to get up to the stage; even though there’s nothing much in this world I love so much as I love music and singing.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, “For what happened to you.”

“Why? You’ve got no reason to be sorry for it, you’re not my father. And now you’re definitely late for what ever appointment you had,” I said, shrugging and standing up from the couch. He followed me with his gaze, and chuckle a little.

“I’m kinda glad I’m not your father, and that thing, it was - - nothing,” he said, chuckled a little, and then shook his head, “I wouldn’t want you to hate me,” he said then, making me wince. 

I didn’t hate him. I didn’t know him well enough to know if I liked him, or if I didn’t like him. But truth always hurt, and this time, it spoke with volumes. I did hate my parents for a long time for what they did to me. But do I still hate them? 

I kept my eyes on the floor. He had brought out a subject that would make me loose sleep for nights to come. I looked over at him, as he shifted, reaching for his cell phone. 

“I didn’t want you to get into trouble because of this,” I said hastily and saw him quickly glance at his phone, with a scowl on his face, and then switch it off, hiding it in his jacket pocket. 

“It’s alright,” he said softly.

I bit my lower lip, when I suddenly felt cold and stood up from the couch. I rubbed my arms to warm up faster, as I went to the window, and realized it had stopped raining, and it was already dark outside.

“So, my life story isn’t about me being molested, abused or abandoned. I was just loved too much by my parents to let me die. I haven’t talked or seen my parents in eleven years, and I’m not sure if I really even want to. I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t want to go through all that just to stay alive,” I whispered, as I leaned against the window frame. 

Norman stood up slowly and walked over to me, looking down at me, before he brushed one strand of hair behind my ear, “Thank you for telling me,” he said, looking at me intently. As a reply, I bit only my lip, and ducked my head. I heard him chuckle, but he didn’t make me look at him, which was a good thing. My stomach sunk when he stepped aside and handed the towel back to me. He was leaving.

I felt relieved when I reached over and took the towel from him, and scrunched it in my hands, and then started for the bathroom, but he stopped me. 

“Hey,” his hand touched my shoulder and I jumped. That was all I took. All that was left in me to fight back the stupid tears was gone. I turned to face him and broke down into pieces, not really caring if he would even pick them up.

* * *

Waking up next morning was a blur. My head hurt, and my neck was stiff. When I shifted, I realized that instead of on my own bed I lay on my couch, and I had slid down into a position where my head was bent so that my neck was strained awkwardly. My eyes felt heavy, and swollen, which wasn’t a big surprise as I remembered crying, but I also felt like I could barely keep them open. Realizing I was still sleepy and tired, I stretched my arms and legs a little; toes grazed the soft surface of the couch upholstery, kicking the blanket that was partly thrown over my legs, when I suddenly met something soft yet firm. I sat up with a startle, pulling my feet quickly under me as I clambered on my knees. I glanced down, patting my chest and thighs, realizing that I was fully clothed, and I had kicked a blanket off of me. The thing that scared me witless was that I had slept right next to him. 

He was still asleep, breathing calmly next to me completely out cold from the world. Instantly there was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I felt anxiety slowly building up. I drew in a shallow breath, hiccupping as I stared at him wide eyed. We hadn’t done anything stupid, since I was fully clothed and he had his clothes on. It calmed me down a notch.

Then, curiosity won over. Biting my lip, I allowed myself to lean closer, to look at him for the first time properly, without having to duck my head or avert my eyes. I chuckled a little, as he let out a deep sigh, and continued to snore softly. His feet hung over the edge, thighs slightly parted, feet splayed on the floor all relaxed. His hair had fallen over his eyes but he wasn’t wearing his signature Ray-Bans; they had fallen on the floor on the carpet. 

He still wore his dark blue jeans, but his belt was open. His left hand rested on his stomach, and his right hand was splayed on the arm of the couch. The sweatshirt hoodie I had given him last night was now scrunched under his back, as his head rested against the comfy and large couch cushions. The dark grey ‘Circle Jerks’ T shirt had ridden up, just a little, so I saw a strip of bare, lightly tanned skin. I blushed, like a nun in a whore house and shifted my eyes away from his stomach, feeling suddenly embarrassed. I glanced at his face again, and carefully and very gently I reached over and brushed some strands aside from his face as I let myself to take in all that was his peaceful look. 

I smiled contently. He definitely could use a good night’s sleep, I wasn’t sure if this was it or not, but at least he was fast asleep. I let my gaze wander down, until there was something on his arm that caught my attention, there was a small star tattooed on the web between his thumb and index finger, a little bit higher on his forearm there was the name ‘Mingus’ tattooed in red ink. Moving my gaze even higher, I saw the winged demon figure tattooed underneath his bicep as well, as I found myself thinking how many tattoos he did actually have. As I tried to grasp the shape of the demon figure I saw him stirring, and quickly turned away, biting my lip. I tried to figure if I should get up and run to the bathroom, or feign sleep and let him make a decision if he wanted to just sneak out the place or have an awkward early morning meeting with the girl he’d slept on the couch with.

I chose the former idea and quickly shuffled myself up from the couch, and hurried into the bathroom. When I got in, I pushed the door shut after me, and as I locked it I heard him groan sleepily as he yawned. 

I brushed my teeth, and my hair. I shed also the jeans and the top I had been sleeping in on and reached over for a pair of black sweats and a sleeveless navy colored top. Haphazardly sprinkling some water and then quickly drying my face I glanced at myself from the mirror. I wanted to ask myself what in the world I was doing, but instead I just stared at the reflection. If I had any luck, I’d get him out of the apartment without things getting more awkward than they already were. 

When I opened the bathroom door, and peeked out, he wasn’t on the couch anymore. I hurried down the hall and into the kitchen finding him leaning against the counter top, and groaning a little as he seemed to stretch his back. When I entered, he lifted up his head.

“Mornin’,” he groaned huskily.

“Hi,” I stammered, trying to think if I had anything that could be constituted as breakfast. I mean, what do you say to an almost stranger you’re almost mindlessly afraid and intrigued of at the same time, who has slept with you on your couch? I didn’t know either. 

I walked around the counter he was leaning against and reached to open the cupboard and looking inside. There wasn’t much in it to mention. 

“Hair trim,” he said, sounding almost embarrassed, and I turned around to look at him puzzled.

“That’s what I had yesterday,” he said, with a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his head. 

“Hair trim,” I stated and nodded feebly. 

“Yeah, it’s stupid, but they think it’s getting too long, and gotta keep it linear in the series,” he chuckled. I saw a faint blush creep on his cheeks, as if it was a dumbest reason ever, but it did involve his professional life, “But like I said I can reschedule it.”

I saw him looking very curiously at the emptiness of my cupboard and then I saw him bite his cheek, as his eyebrows arched just a little, while I still clung onto he handle. 

“Hey, wanna get out and grab something to eat? A breakfast?” he said then.

“We could go to Sharkey’s Café? Or Dean and DeLuca?” he said, and my mind began wandering dangerously when I noticed him reaching to buckle his belt. I blushed, turned to look at the shelves and frowned a little. I had a bit of a problem at hand. I hadn’t even bothered to think about going to the store anytime soon. I didn’t host dinner parties to friends; I didn’t host any parties. As I sighed, closing the cupboard slowly, I felt him stepping closer, his hand all touchy-feely on my back again, and my body reacted, stupidly leaning against that touch, forcing me to finally turn to look at him. He looked sleepy, hair all messed up, clothes more or less wrinkled and yet he was a sight to behold, rubbing his fingers against my back, creating a quick comforting effect.

“How’ya feelin’?” he asked then when I didn’t answer fast enough, eyeing at me. The look in his blue eyes was similar to all of those who knew what had happened, and also looking for any kind of confirmation that I was doing much better – like they had somehow magically cured me. I blinked few times, and nodded. I had learned to lie to people who had that same look on their faces.

“I’m - - I’m good,” I replied casually, shrugging my shoulders, as if to shed his hand from my shoulder. 

I lied about feeling better, but unfortunately I didn’t think I was. I was exposed and I hated that feeling as much as I hated that gnawing panicky feeling that just wouldn’t leave me alone. I did want to be that girl who I had been before I had built all those secured walls around myself to protect myself from the world. I wanted to be something else.

“I don’t think I have anything more than just coffee here,” I said, and turned to look at him, as he shifted, stretching his arms above his head and groaned out loud, and again his shirt hiked up. He then shook himself and looked down at me playfully, “Well, then,” he said, and winked at me, “Shall we?” he asked, quickly wetting his lips with his tongue and bobbing his head towards the front door.

I swallowed hard, “O-Okay, but I ha-have to change,” I mumbled, nodding a little, “Give me ten minutes.”

* * *

I changed my clothes as fast as I could. I didn’t bother to put any makeup on because why bother, he’d seen me without it and most importantly, we weren’t going on a date. Digging a pair of loose fitted dark jeans I slid my sweats off and replaced them with the jeans. The navy top seemed to be just fine as it was, so I only looked for a black jacket with three quarter sleeves. I picked a dark blue knitted linen scar from my closet and threw it around my neck casually, and then went into a search mode for a hair tie. Finding one on the floor where it had rolled at some point, I quickly walked out of the bedroom as I was tying my hair into a messy ponytail. He glanced at me and smirked approvingly. 

I blushed which he didn’t see as I leaned forward to pick my boots from the floor and quickly slid them on. 

He was pretty much set already. Not that most guys needed too much maintenance anyways. But seemed to be one of those guys who probably just stood up from the bed and shook themselves like a dog after a swim and ta-dah everything fell in place and they looked divine. 

We headed out with that. I had my keys, phone and a mini-purse stuffed into my jacket pockets, so I hadn’t bothered with a bag. I ran down the stairs, followed by Norman and as we got out to the street he looked at me quizzically. We weren’t too far from anywhere, about 15 minutes and we could find any coffee house or small bakery. But he had his car with him. 

I nodded and moved to his car, just because I had already consumed one day out of him, and I didn’t want him to waste his time on a second one. We climbed into the car, and he fished his car keys from his now dry hoodie’s pocket. I frowned as he reached to start the car, as I wondered how unbelievably absurd and surreal this was.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone, after I forced you to tell me about your - -,” he started and waved his hand towards the surroundings in general, “That’s why I stayed.”

I nodded.

“But after you fell asleep, I think I fell asleep too,” he said.

“I understand,” I replied, because he needed reassurance that it was fine with me, “It’s alright.”

“Good, because I don’t want my friends to be sad,” he said winking.

“Y-You don’t even know me,” I reiterating what I had already told him before. It came out loud harder, than I had intended to. I saw his face drop, frowning.

“That’s not true,” he replied, “I know you. You’re a Sweetheart. I just want to make sure you’re alright, before I leave,” he chuckled then.

“I assure you: I’m fine,” I sighed and looked at him. He didn’t get to reply to me as his phone went off and he pulled it out of his pocket. He let out a groan and then glanced at me almost apologetic, “See, you’re in trouble because of me,” I said and crossed my arms to my chest, ducking my head quickly. 

He chuckled, but it wasn’t airy and carefree chuckle, but instead a strained and nervous one. He was clearly needed somewhere and he was now deep in the shit-creek. 

“I - - I should - -,” he started, and I let out a knowing chuckle, “You should go,” I then said, before he’d have to back down from his offer of breakfast, “I’m fine. I’ll go just get something from a grocery store and head back home.”

I felt incredibly guilty, but I didn’t want to hold him any longer than necessary, “I’m grateful for you looking after me, though.” 

He lifted his gaze from the screen of his phone, and smiled at me, “Yeah,” there was a barely noticeable flinch, “Yeah, I better get going. I got to call Ming and reschedule that damn hair trim. Rain check on breakfast?” he quickly asked.

I wanted to tell him that he should have left yesterday, when he had dropped me off, and not pretend to be some hero on a white horse. But of course, I couldn’t bring myself to say that. That would have been too bold, not to mention too rude.

I nodded, without thinking too much into it. Odds were that he’d go by his business and forget all about me, which was the way it should be. And I could stop freaking out about getting too close to a person. 

When I looked at him, his hands twitched, and he shifted in his seat, like he was going to give me a hug, but instead he just nodded. But he also looked like he wanted to say something, and so I waited for a moment, giving him a chance to say what ever he wanted. 

“Here,” he mumbled, reached into the glove compartment and pulling out an old receipt and a marker. He scribbled something on the paper and handed it to me, “That’s my address, and phone number. If you need anything, just - - just give me a call. My door’s always open for you,” he said.

“I can’t…” I started, looking shocked at the paper, “I can’t take these.”

“What are friends for?” he then questioned and winked. Without thinking, he leaned over and kissed my cheek, and I quickly nodded, opening the door and sliding out. 

“Bye,” I whispered as I closed the door and watched as he drove off.


	7. Problems And Sleepiness

I tried to keep myself busy for the next few days, trying my very best to forget the piece of paper I had stashed away in my kitchen drawer, that one little note that held Norman’s address and number. I was as confused now as of what to do with it as I had been the moment he’d given it to me. After a while, I did feel like I should have at least saved the number on my phone, but then the reality struck me in the head and I returned to weighing on options on what to do with it. I honestly didn’t know what to do.

I was so bad at this, talking to people, or getting to know them. Apart from my chosen career, I really lead a rather unimaginative life. Considering, that there really needed to be some kind of a spark, an interest, or similarity to get acquainted with anyone really, my friends should have been pet rocks. I couldn’t even figure out if he was being sincere or not. He had said he wanted to be friends – he’d called me a friend – and he had said that I could call him anytime I wanted, if I ever needed anything. The problem in that equation was that I didn’t know what could I possibly want from him that would require me to call him, or appear behind his door? And of course my mind had offered me a whole variety of answers, most of which made me blush. I had met the man twice for real, and most of the last year I had just talked to him on Twitter. And yet, considering he was very hot at the moment, with the Walking Dead and the movies he was making, it wouldn’t take much of investigative work to tell what people would have done if they’d be given this same opportunity.

All this just made me immediately succumb even more vigorously into the decided project of cleaning my apartment. Going meticulously through each and every square of my windows I had to admit that it’s not that I didn’t want - - you know - - but more that that I was too afraid to even consider him being a friend, let alone being anything more.

I hoped I could just forget. But I supposed it would be far more difficult to forget than just let go and see what would come if I’d let things roll on their own.

I forced myself to start the cleaning as a way to divert myself from all the distractions that seemed to have crowded into my life all of a sudden. Cleaning my apartment was completely and utterly pointless, as the whole place was, more or less, in top shape. But nevertheless, I began rearranging my books and CDs. I arranged my furniture, and then rearranged them back to the way they were when I had realized how stupid things looked. I tore everything down from the Wall of Pictures and reorganized everything back on. When that project was done, I was mildly satisfied. It didn’t help me though.

I gave in and started to gather all the notes and unfinished scribbles of song lyrics together and began organizing them. As I got them more sorted out I began writing lyrics just to keep my mind from wandering. Of course, after a while I got fidgety with writing just the lyrics. I’d had that certain nagging feeling deep inside my mind for quite some time now that I needed to go ahead and finish that piece of which music kept playing in my head. It had been a while since I had bothered to toy with my piano, which was now tucked away in the guest bedroom that had never been used. When ever it came to bring my lyrics alive with music, I just asked Jon to put the band together and we spent some quality time at the recording studio, or at my apartment. 

I ordered Chinese food, and moved myself into the music room, and let myself drown into the melody and rhythm of the music as it swept me away and I found myself smiling several times as I kept molding and changing and stretching the piece that had been haunting me for a while now. I let my fingers glide over the white and black keys of the piano, as I made myself as comfortable as possible on the seat, that wasn’t really built for comfortableness. I didn’t look at the keyboard, but tilted my head back and closed my eyes trying to listen to carefully of each and every note I played. The song had taken a new shape, a better shape; it was now piercing my heart and calling for me to set it free. I began humming softly with the strokes of the keyboard and smiled to myself, until I suddenly felt tears rolling slowly down my cheeks and I had to stop. 

Wiping my cheeks, I first burst into laughter, but then there was a pit in my stomach that instead of making me feel happy that I had managed to write and compose something as beautiful as the piece I had just played I made me cry out loud, feeling desperate and trapped. 

I knew just the reason for that, but I didn’t want to admit it. I wanted to be as free as the song wanted to be, but how could I have been when the moment I stepped out of the apartment all I felt was fear and anxiety. I wanted to see where this was going with him, but how could I when I always tried to be so composed, so poised and guarded? I stood up, walking over to the corner and let myself slide down on the floor, burying my face to my hands and let myself cry for once as much as there were tears to flow.

 

* * *

I woke up to the sound of my phone announcing of a new activity. My apartment was dark as I groggily tried to find my phone from the floor. All I found at first was the fluffy carpet. Swearing a little, I had to sit up and my phone beeped again. 

“Alright, alright,” I mumbled, swung my feet down on the floor and leaned down to reach for the persistent cell phone. I stood up unsteadily, making my way to the light switch. The light was too bright once I hit the switch and groaned in protestation, but once the phone bleeped third time I didn’t have enough time to fiddle with the dim switch.

Opening the lock screen I frowned noticing it was just a notification from Twitter.

“Well, that was a pointless wakeup call,” I said to myself, but opened the notification on Twitter.

_Ya online tonight, Sweetheart?_ it read and I frowned at it but then I glanced at the sender, and though it was completely and utterly weird to receive such a message, and my brain totally ignored the possibility that it was meant for me, I couldn’t help but chuckle when I noticed that it was from him. 

I quickly typed an answer in which I asked him to make sure the DMs he sent were indeed going to the correct and real receiver. I put my phone down on the couch and hurried into the kitchen to get something cool to drink when my phone beeped again. I poured myself a big glass full of peach flavored ice tea, and walked back to the couch. 

_No faith. It was for ya, Sweetheart_ , he sent me a reply back, and this time I froze for a second. I flinched when I looked at the screen and read the reply again and again.

_Why do you want me to be online? I’m confused_ , I had to ask him truthfully. I felt flutters spreading from my stomach through out my body and I felt my leg start to bounce up and down, trying not to get too nervous. I kept biting my cheek, while waiting for him to reply to me. It took a good while and I almost regretted for answering him in such a manner.

_I just need some company._

_I’m not good company at the moment_ , I replied, and I know it was supposed to be a soft answer for him, but it sure didn’t sound like one to me in my head. 

_Let me be the judge on that. Pretty please?_ he replied again, and I found myself smiling a little at that. I had no real reason to tell him that I didn’t want to talk to him or anybody for that matter, but maybe talking to him would alleviate my own ghosts as well.

_All right. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Do you want to talk here on Twitter?_

_Nah, too impersonal. Ya got FaceTime?_

_No, I don’t use Apple_ , I replied which was the truth. I had never gotten into that hype boat.

_Skype then?_

_Yes._

_Username?_ he asked bluntly and I told it to him. It took a good ten minutes for my computer to beep and inform that he was calling to me. I answered timidly and pulled the laptop closer to me, placing it on the arm rest of the couch. At first the screen was black, and then it was a blur, but then I saw his face and smiled a little.

He smirked, when he saw me through the webcam and leaned closer, “Hey, there you are,” he said softly. Again, it was a kind voice, almost like a purr of a cat, and it made me shudder. Friendly voice, friendlier voice, much more kind that I was accustomed with.

“Hi,” I murmured back to him, and looked down at the keyboard. My hair fell over my face and I tugged my sleeves over my fingers again. I didn’t need to be typing for this. 

“Hey,” he reiterated. 

“So, w-what’s wrong?” I asked, biting my lower lip, looking up at the screen, with my hair framing the sides of my face. I didn’t bother to brush my hair aside, it was part of that protective wall of mine that I had kept intact for so long and it was hard to let go of it.

“Nothing much, really,” he sighed, “I just had one shit storm of a day and needed to talk to someone. Haven’t heard from you in a week and got worried,” he added, winking at me. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses this time, although they were on top of his head, ready for him to slide them down over his eyes.

“Y-yeah,” I mumbled, biting my tongue, as if to stop myself from blurting out that I didn’t even know what the hell to do with his number. 

“I thought you’d at least text me your number,” he said, grinning. I still maintain the opinion that he should smile more often, and not just scowl at people. That grin of a smile made my stomach flip twice around itself. I felt unnerved and chuckled nervously, “I… I didn’t k-know I was s-supposed t-to,” I whispered my answer and brought my left hand to my face. My cheeks were burning hot by now.

“Don’t worry about it. You can do it now,” he said shrugging his shoulders playfully as he leaned back in his seat.

I blushed even more if that was a possibility. I did have my phone with me, on the couch, but the number was still stashed away in the kitchen drawer.

“I - - uh, I haven’t actually saved your number yet,” I said, my voice trembling like I was just an inch away from bursting into tears. 

“What?” he asked in return, leaning now close to the screen, and I could see the friendlier gleam in his eyes, while he chuckled and licked his lips. If I had been some kind of a psychologists that would have probably meant something, but I tried not to think about it when I cast my eyes down remaining silent. 

“H-Hold on,” I muttered in reply and skipped quickly to he kitchen, yanked the drawer open and shifted some of the things aside to find the piece of paper. When I found it I hurried back to the couch, “Here, see, I s-still have it,” I said, making him smile again.

“Well, put it on,” he urged then and made me blush once more.

Sighing, I dabbed the number onto my phone and saved it there. I wiggled my phone between my fingers at the screen and he nodded at me, “Now you can send that text to me,” he said, that friendlier gleam still twinkling in his eyes. Smile I wore escalated pretty quick to lip chewing as I quickly typed in a text and pressed ‘send’. A moment later, the video feed began shaking and trembling, as he picked up his computer and walked off to somewhere. Apparently he had not been with his phone.

There was an overly joyous smile on his lips when he sat down again, and the picture steadied. I saw him looking at his phone and then at the webcam, “Thanks, Sweetheart.” He sounded accomplished and I had to shake my head at that. 

“So, what ya up now?” he asked then, his eyes still fixated on the phone, but he leaned back against the couch cushions of his and taking a better position.

“Nothing,” I shrugged my shoulders, “I’m really quite a boring person.”

“No, you’re not,” chuckling was evident in his voice when he replied back.

“Let me get back to you on that,” I replied, “But I’ve been composing, some instrumental pieces,” I said, feeling oddly relieved that I could actually talk to him about something.

“Really? What are they like?” 

“I don’t know, just classical pieces,” I mumbled, looking down at my lap, “Not something you’d listen to,” I added then chuckling a little, and then quickly blushing. 

“How would you know that?” he laughed out loud, shifting in his seat and leaning back, his arm bent behind his back.

“Y-You like S-Sonic Yo-Youth,” my response came out with trembling voice as I stuttered.

“How do you know that, Sweetheart?” he asked then, tilting his head, and still that friendly gleam, friendlier gleam, decorated his eyes. My stomach knotted quickly and bit my lip, shrugging my shoulders and mumbling something inaudible.

“Are you one of my Intense Researchers?” he asked, his voice so low, and husky that it made my skin crawl.

“N-No,” I shook my head, making him laugh out louder. 

“Yes, you are,” he said, winking, “I like that in you. You’re not boring at all. I’m finding new things about you all the time.” 

I looked down and didn’t answer back. My hands were trembling, and I had an intense, demanding feeling inside of me that I needed to run; run far away from this conversation. I needed to end it. I needed to stop this. I needed to tell him not to waste his time chitchatting with me.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, and I glanced at the screen, he was looking off camera. There must have been someone there he was talking to. Politely, I picked up my phone and pretended to be completely immersed by the world of emails until he was done with who ever it was there with him.

“Sweetheart?” his voice trickled into my consciousness suddenly and my head shot up, staring wide eyed at the screen, “There you are,” he sighed and smiled a little. 

I bit my lower lip, and smiled just a little. It was feeble, barely noticeable, but he saw it and it did translate as a smile to him. He winked again at me and made me blush heavily. There was some commotion in the background again, and I saw a frown form on his face, he sighed, rolling his eyes, and turned to look off camera again.

“Do y-you have guests? You can go if you want to,” I said quickly.

“Nah, it’s just Ming and Eye,” he said, chuckling, and then he yawned. 

I glanced at the clock and it read 9:28 pm. 

“Oh,” I murmured, he looked tired again and as he lay back there on his couch, his arm behind his back, his computer on his lap, I saw his eyes fluttering as if he was about to fall asleep. I was like his personal sandman. 

“Well, even it is just Ming and Eye, you look tired, you should go to sleep,” I said softly, tilted my head, as I looked him, through the video feed. His eyes were now completely closed, and I saw him relax. He’d fallen asleep. 

I chuckled a little, “Alright, it works this way too. Good night, Norman,” I then whispered and reached for the red button to end the call.


	8. Invitation Over Some Breakfast

Two days later Norman called to me feeling utterly embarrassed.

It was warm June Saturday afternoon and I was pretending to like to lie on a blanket in the sunny spot on the roof while trying to figure out what was wrong with the lyrics I had been writing for the past hour. I scribbled some notes to the side of the paper about the melody of the song, and returned to stare at the lyrics. This was going to be one pain in the butt with the band, and I already knew it. At the moment it was the pain of my existence.

_Not the easiest one, boys, sorry!_ I wrote at the bottom of the sheet, and drew a little smiley face next to it. I was in the middle of something really stupid, which I quickly penned over, when he called. He apologized three times in the first sentence alone, and I had to stop him from going on for the fourth time. 

“You were tired,” I said, trying to sound comforting when he groaned in protestation, “It happens.”

“Hell yes I was, but I wanted to talk to you!” he snapped out loud, probably harder than he had intended to, making me wince in the process. There was a sudden silence, and then he said cautiously, “Uh, wait, did you just make a reference to impotence there?”

“I - - uh, what? No?!” I slapped my hand over my mouth after I had shrieked out loud. I was extremely grateful that I had this own access to the roof, and that I was completely alone at that very moment, without any prying eyes and ears around me. When I blushed, it felt like water tumbling over the edge of the Victoria Falls.

If I had made such a thing, I certainly didn’t mean to. I was absolutely mortified, as I sat up, and blinked few times, realizing what I had actually said, “Oh, God. I d-did, didn’t I?” 

He burst into laughter and made me blush even more. I buried my face into my palm and shook my head. Now it was my turn to feel embarrassed. 

“Let me tell you that everything works just fine,” he said, full of manly pride and sounding just a tad snappy, feeling all huffy about such an implication coming from me. 

“I’m sorry!” I blurted out and was so close to end the call right there.

It was horrible, I was horrible! I didn’t want him to think that I was insinuating I was thinking how his junk actually performed! I didn’t want to go anywhere near that area in the conversation, I was freaked out as it was, talking to him on a phone, let alone to think what did and did not work on his physique. Or what that working could and could not do with me. My whole body shuddered almost violently when I thought of that and I was immensely glad that we were just having this conversation over the phone and not in person or via Skype.

I heard him laugh out loud and I relaxed a bit.

“It’s alright, Sweetheart,” he said with a voice that was laced with milk and toast and honey.

I shuddered and out of a habit ducked my head down. I was still too shocked to say anything. I didn’t know what to say if there was anything to say. I was barely comfortable speaking how sexy and alluring my performances needed to be on stage with Jon, and here I was making impotence references at him and his working parts. 

“You there?” he asked suddenly and I replied with sigh, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he went on.

I kept quiet still. 

“I’m sorry,” he offered again, and sighed then, “This wouldn’t have happened if I was in New York,” he growled, “Fuck!”

It woke me up from my mute coma and I tilted my head, “S-So you’re o-out of town?” I asked curious. 

“I’m in Georgia, Sweetheart. I thought you knew,” he answered, amused, “I thought you were my Intense Researcher?”

“I’m - - I’m not,” I replied still mortified, and on the verge of tears, I didn’t want him to think that I spent all evenings on a computer just to find information about him, “T-Those were y-your words, n-not mine,” the answer was meant to be spikier, but the stammering, and my voice cracking all of a sudden took the edge out of it. After a moment, though, my brain caught up with me, and I remembered hearing that they did film the Walking Dead in Georgia during the summer. They couldn’t exactly have half-naked walkers roaming around in snow and freezing temperatures.

“That TV show, The Walking Dead,” I then stated, and made him laugh quietly as a reply, “Yup. Though, I’m coming back to New York this weekend, though. We’re taking a little summer vacation now. Thought you might wanna meet then, I could at least make up for falling asleep on you, and I still owe you that breakfast.”

I remembered that breakfast offer he had to back off last time I’d seen him. Even though he seemed to take it seriously, I hadn’t even considered it a possibility that I’d hold him onto that promise. And he certainly didn’t need to be sorry for falling asleep, he had been tired, and like I had said before he needed to remember to take care of himself.

“Y-You don’t owe me anything,” I mumbled shaking my head. I wish he could have seen it. 

“Yeah, I do,” he stated and was about to say something, when I heard shuffling, like he switched the phone from ear to ear. He didn’t say anything more, and I frowned thinking the line had been cut.

“Sorry about that,” he said then suddenly, “I’m at the set; they want me to go back. How about if I call you a little later, you can think about where you wanna eat that breakfast, and I’ll oblige to that wish of yours.”

I was stunned and completely wordless, “I - - uh - - w-wait - -,” I stammered.

“Bye, Sweetheart,” he said, again his voice making my skin crawl when he called me ‘sweetheart’ to which I was now used to, but not at the way he said it now. I tried to come up with something to answer to him, but he was faster and ended the call with a lingering chuckle. 

I swear if I had not been sitting down I would have keeled over.

* * *

On a very sunny and New York noisy Saturday morning I woke at 5:30 am promptly. There was warm sunlight streaming in through the upper parts of my three bedroom windows, and creating a playful display of shadow and light on the floor and the walls. I stretched and yawned, curling back to a ball and hugged my pillow and the fluffy blanket with all the love that only a ‘Saturday morning, no rush to anywhere’ feeling could bring out. 

That was, until I remembered why I had to wake up so early. That breakfast he had been hounding me about. He’d called me again that evening, after he got home from the set very late on Wednesday, and said that he’d be driving back to New York on Friday. I had done my best to convince him I didn’t hold him to that promise about the breakfast. I had even tried to imply that he wasn’t obligated to hold onto anything about me anymore. I would have been just fine with the Twitter thing. But he either he was too stubborn to admit it, or too oblivious to hear it. So, a lengthy phone conversation later I had to admit my defeat and agree to meet him for breakfast on that particular Saturday morning. I had already made a mental list on places that were open at that hour and where we could get something to go.

I was nervous a certain extend, and not even sure why was that. I felt so contradicted about the whole thing that it was driving me up to the wall. I didn’t want to see him, and yet, I actually did not feel frightened like a little bunny rabbit in the middle of a road, and maybe even slightly eager to see him.

I sat up, tossing the warm blanket off of me groaning in objection and slid my feet down over the edge of the bed and onto the hard wood floor of my bedroom. The planks were warm to touch and I curled my toes for a while before I actually got up, just to feel the soft and warmth of the wood under them. My palms rested on either side of my thighs as I sighed deep my eyes closed and stretched my neck. I opened them and looked down at the floor and just sat there for a good while. 

I knew I was more or less stalling, and I had to get up so I wouldn’t be late, I didn’t want to get into another long tirade about what was or wasn’t wrong with a breakfast among friends. I hurried into the bathroom, and slid my pajama bottoms and white top off, and decided to take a quick shower before going.

After the shower, I came about with the dilemma concerning the wardrobe. I went with a blue dress, my trusty brown leather boots and my leather jacket. I made a ponytail out of my unruly hair and dabbed some powder on my face, because why bother to do much more. Glancing at the clock it was already 7:05 am, and I knew I had to hurry. I ran to my backpack that I had already packed last night and quickly threw it over my shoulder, and then grabbing my keys I ran to the door.

* * * 

I took me about 5 minutes to walk from my place to the corner of Hester and Baxter where I stopped and waited by the green mailbox that sat near the crossing. He wasn’t there yet, but I figured I was a bit early and succumbed to observe the people rushing past me and driving in their early morning rush to work. The street was pretty quiet unlike the street where I lived as it gave off more of a promenade feeling than an actually busy street. 

I was so immersed in my own thoughts and looking at the people walking by that I didn’t hear him come to me. Like a complete cliché, I jumped nearly out of my skin, and shrieked out loud when I felt a hand gently touching my shoulder. 

“Jesus! It’s just me,” I heard that husky voice, when I turned around and saw him standing in front of me now, wearing his Ray-Bans. 

“Y-You s-scared the daylights out of m-me,” I whispered, holding onto my chest, like I’d had a heart attack. My knees felt like they were cooked spaghetti and I placed my left hand onto the mailbox to regain my composure. 

“I’m sorry, I thought you’d figure it out,” he replied, “Are you alright?” 

“I - - I’m f-fine,” I stammered, more than usual, and bit my lip. He didn’t seem to believe me, staring at me curiously, so I forced myself to stand up straight, even though I still felt like I was going to pass out. 

“I’m f-fine,” I said with a halfhearted peppy voice that barely was just that. 

“So, where do you want me to take you?” he asked, then, winking, “Breakfast is on my dime.”

“A-Anywhere is f-fine,” I whispered, not looking up at him, but glancing just a little towards his general direction. I wasn’t that picky with food, or drinks.

“You didn’t decide on anything? I thought I was just tagging along for company and payment,” he chuckled, spreading his arms and shrugging his shoulders and looking damn well pleased with himself after making such a comment.

“W-We can find a hot dog stand,” I offered, pointing down the street where I knew was a pretty decent hot dog stand, though it was doubtful if it was open at this hour. 

“Okay, that’s just ridiculous, Sweetheart,” he shook his head, and brought his arm quickly to my waist guiding me to turn around. I slinked away from his hand, and he let it slide, obviously same thought coursing through his mind. Neither he nor I were ready to be plastered on any gossip bog, news site or magazine with the speculative heading about a female friend that may or may not be his girlfriend. He kept that distance between us as we walked and he kept his hands in his pockets. We were just two people walking towards the same direction.

We took our time, walking slowly and even browsing some display windows on our way. I didn’t talk much, but apparently that didn’t bother him. We had walked about fifteen minutes, and I had already lost my sense of direction having paid no attention to the world around us two, when he reached out and took a gentle hold of my wrist and pulled me inside the Cup & Saucer diner.

We walked to a table by the window near the back, and I couldn’t help but think if this was a conscious decision; he might not actually want to be seen around town with anyone. Breakfast could be so easily misinterpreted anyways. I already saw the possible headlines and shuddered out of disgust. 

“What would you like to have?” his voice pulled me back to the reality and I wondered if I was actually hungry or not; I could have gone with just the coffee.

I told him I’d like a small breakfast plate and a cup of coffee with milk and sugar. He nodded, and waved the waitress over to our table. I watched carefully if she would recognize him, but she either didn’t or showed no emotion to it what so ever.

His order was almost the same as mine, but coffee black and the breakfast plate, large.

Again I was quiet and just observed as he toyed with his cell phone, thinking that it was probably stupid to have asked me to go for a breakfast. I felt like I had to say something.

“I told y-you didn’t owe m-me anything. We could have just bought some coffee,” I whispered, trying to amend the situation. 

“I promised you a breakfast,” he insisted. 

“I also to-told you - - that…,” I stammered, blushed and fell silent. He looked at me frowning, “Told me what?”

“That I wasn’t v-very g-good company,” I hiccupped, dutifully answering. I had to get it out in the open, because all of this - - was just killing me.

He looked at me, blinked and he actually looked a little hurt. He was about to say something when the waitress came over to the table and poured us coffee, she then walked away and he looked at his coffee mug, slowly twirling it in his hands.

“So, you - - don’t want to be friends, is that it?” he asked, looking down at the small frothy bubbles on the surface of his steaming hot, black coffee.

I gaped at him, feeling cold shivers, “Oh, no, I do,” I said hastily, “But I don’t see why you would.”

Again the conversation halted when the smiling waitress – Kirsten, according to the name tag – walked over to the table and placed two breakfast plates in front of us.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, tossing the ball right back into my court.

“Because…,” I started to say but there wasn’t really anything I could say that didn’t sound incredibly stupid when said out loud.

“Here’s an offer,” he said, reaching over the untouched breakfast plate, sliding his hand in mine, “Do you have any plans tonight?”

“N-No.”

“Good, then you can come with me to a party,” he said, winking, “You’ll get to meet some of my friends, and then you can tell me if and why I would want you as my friend. I don’t care that you’re shy, I’m shy. I don’t care that you can’t wear a seatbelt, I prefer to ride a bike anyways, and on the show I can do it without a helmet,” he explained, chuckling.

“You spoke to me like to a friend on Twitter. That’s why I followed you, that’s why I started to interact with you, and I really liked those songs. And, I can’t wait to hear what ever it is that you got under works.”

I stared at him, unable to answer, and tried to swallow back the lump I seemed to have in my throat. I felt like a slippery weasel, a rotten banana peel on the sidewalk, big pile of cow crap for trying to categorize him under the label of every man that ever wanted to get into every woman’s pants. 

“Oh,” I mumbled, reaching for a fork and ducked my head. I cursed inwardly that I had put on a ponytail, and now my hair wasn’t falling down to cover my face.

He smiled, and took up his own fork, sticking it into the eggs on the plate. 

“So, that party, what is it about?” I asked, not looking up at him, but pretending that I was in a heated battle with my bacon. 

“Just some friends getting together. I can come pick you up at 8 pm, completely casual fun with bunch of crazy people,” he answered. He sounded calm but he looked like he had just won in the Olympics, received an Oscar and received the Pulitzer Prize and National Geographic’s Gold Medal Award for Photography all in one day.


	9. Tornado Strikes

He picked me up promptly at 8 pm. He was wearing black slacks, and a grey dress shirt.

“You c-clean up n-nicely,” I said staring at his hands on the steering wheel. From the corner of my eye I saw him looking, and raising an eyebrow, at me. 

“You, too,” he replied huskily.

He winked at me approvingly and made me blush.

I wore navy blue dress, with pockets, and black biker boots, and grey scarf around my neck. I’d not been sure if this was appropriate for an evening with his friends, but I had taken a risk with that. 

Looking at him, there was again that gleam in his eyes that I had seen before, friendlier gleam, as he kept stealing looks of me. Suddenly I realized that it was more about what he didn’t say about my outfit, and I felt strangely pleased with myself.

We drove to downtown Manhattan, to a nightclub, even though I had actually expected us to drive a residential area, and to a more or less private party. Apparently that wasn’t the plan, when I gaped at the nightclub. The exterior was brightly lit with neon pink, and I released the breath that I hadn’t even noticed I had been holding in when the car came to a halt. The music from the inside pulsed so loudly that the street seemed to vibrate with every beat. People were buzzing outside the door and waiting in a line to get inside. Most of them were turned down by the bouncer standing on the street and demanding for a picture ID from every person.

“I - - I thought we were going to your friend’s house?” I said panic bubbling beneath the surface, as I stared at the nightclub and the long line of people in front of it. Most of the women standing in line were wearing outfits that I couldn’t call as clothes with any amount of good will. I looked down at my clothes and bit my lip; I was definitely overdressed for this nightclub, in the words most literal meaning.

He shook his head as a reply, “This is where the party’s at.” 

“I don’t t-think I c-can do t-this,” I stammered, “I didn’t think - -,” I tried to explain, but he shook his head, with a smile that made me forget every argument I could have expressed about why I couldn’t go inside.

“Sure you can,” he said, “Just think of it as - - as one of your gigs!”

I frowned. Maybe I could do it, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to go back home. I wanted to demand why on earth had he brought me here, but of course I was too nice to ask such a thing. 

“I r-really don’t think I can,” I tried once more. It was dawning on me that he didn’t quite understand at all how I was feeling. I might have been too vague about it. I could count the parties I had attended to with the fingers of one hand. All of them had had something to do with the music industry and Jon had been there with me. I had never stayed at those parties for longer than few hours and Jon had never made me to. 

“You can, and you will,” he said winking, “Live a little. C’mon,” he said, nudging my arm playfully. I ducked my head, sighing deeply and granted him a tiny, faltering smile. Suddenly it didn’t feel as good of an idea as it had before.

Live a little he says, I thought, Easier said than done.

He stood out of the car, quickly dropping his Ray-Bans over his eyes, and gathering his phone, wallet and car keys in his hands. Keys and wallet disappeared neatly into his jeans’ pocket and he held onto his phone. I stood up, with trembling legs and stared painfully at the front door and the bouncers. I looked over across the street and thought if I would run right now he wouldn’t be able to stop me. When he noticed I was still standing next to the car, he chuckled and stepped in front of me, sliding his hand around my wrist and pulling me after him. It didn’t help with the panicky feeling at all. 

“Don’t worry; I’ll be right next to you the whole time. I want you to meet my friends,” he said.

I felt queasy, my vision blurred and distorted as I tried not to panic. I let him take a vise like hold of my hand, as he made his way to the front door, and leaned in to say something to one of the bouncers.

“Hey, it’s Norman Reedus!” someone called out loud. 

He stopped, waving to some of the people that were gathering around him eagerly. He let go of my hand, and I stepped backwards bumping against one of the bouncers. The man asked if I was alright and I nodded silently. 

Watching him interacting with his fans was kind of soothing. I wasn’t expected anything at that moment, at least not to go inside to this nightclub. There were papers shoved at him, and he signed all of them, talking and answering some of the questions of these people. There were few girls there as well, who came to him giggling, and toying with their hair, clearly determined to get more than just an autograph. The first girl, blonde haired girl wearing a little number of a glittery dress bit her lip when she leaned closer and asked him to sign her chest. He laughed out loud and leaned over to sign her left boob. I stared at that display rather horrified. I was a nun compared to that girl! No, I was a nun compared to all of these girls. 

The second girl stepped forward next and turned around, sticking her butt up towards Norman, slowly sliding the hem of her already short skirt up, and he signed the right butt cheek of hers. He was handling the situation with humor still talking to the girls. It was clear that this was more or less your typical male interest towards a female body and these two girls surely were displaying more body than brains at the moment. I had never really gone to these kinds of nightclubs before. I was either sick, or I was too busy studying and working to have gone through a nightclub phase. 

He took a moment longer talking to them, but then telling them to have a nice evening, and walked back to me. His hand found mine again, and squeezed it tightly. The bouncer immediately gave a signal for the doorman to open the front doors for him and me. He guided me through the double doors.

I looked at him incredulously, and he chuckled nervously, “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry a-about it,” I mumbled, when he squeezed my hand again tightly.

“I don’t want us to get separated, so just stick with me!” he shouted over the music before we made our way through the mass of people.

From the corners of my eyes I watched the looks on girls’ faces as we passed. They kept checking Norman out for several minutes. Then their eyes found him holding onto my hand, and then they checked me out: hair, face, boobs, stomach, outfit, boobs, face, and finally ending it with a long and pointed look directly into my eyes. Last, before we passed them, they gave another glance at Norman that said ‘When you get tired of this, call me’. 

Hand holding really suggested that we were there together as a couple. It was also confusing the hell out of me. There was a pang of guilt suddenly when I caught myself thinking how long it would actually take for him to leave with one of them. Sure, it made me feel one awful person to even think about such a thing, but I was too aware of the looks he was getting, and that he had stated that we were friends. 

The feeling that this had been indeed a mistake only grew stronger in the back of my mind.

The club was absolutely writhing and throbbing with music and people. There were so many people that my head was already spinning. He pulled me after him towards one of the corners with large leather couches and armchairs. When we reached the corner, I was already gasping for air and shivering feverishly, but he was too electrified to notice it. I was looking around me like a caged animal. 

There were several people at that corner. Most of which turned to stare at me with increasingly curious eyes as he greeted them all. He pulled me in front of him, making me wish that the ground would open up underneath me and swallow me whole. 

I didn’t recognize them, and none looked even vaguely familiar, though they all had this artistic vibe around them. I first expected him to introduce me to them, but when one of them called him by his name, I felt his hand leave mine. He went on to greet the said friend.

I made my way to the couch, in the corner and sat down. I frowned as I thought of what to do next. 

“Well, hello there,” I heard a male voice call out loud, and startled out of my thoughts quickly. Turning to look at who ever it was, I sighed out of relief when I saw it was Sean. He leaned closer, giving me a quick peck of a kiss on my cheek. I blushed, and looked up at him, in order to look at least some kind of comfort and security from him – as the only person I recognized. Norman was still engaged in a colorful conversation with the man who had called for him, and now there was two women gathered around the two men.

Sean sat down and looked at me curiously, “How is it that you’re here?” 

“N-Norman.”

“Ah, I see,” he said, grinning, “You two an item now?” he was clearly teasing me.

“W-We’re just f-friends,” I whispered, frowning a little.

“Just friends, sure, sure,” he replied incredulously, taking a sip from his drink. Sighing I granted him a peeved glare. I for one did have my suspicions if a man and a woman could be friends but we couldn’t be anything more than friends. 

Sean chuckled, placing his glass on the table, “Would you like something to drink?” he asked then. I shook my head as a reply.

“Are you sure?”

“I really don’t drink,” I said shrugging my shoulders.

“Oh?” he looked at me surprised. Over the course of the previous seven years I had drank four times, and all of those times I had lost control over myself completely. Because of the multiple organ dysfunction syndrome diagnosis I still had to eat certain medication and those were usually the reason why alcohol affected me in a bad way. I hadn’t gone through the same phase as most did in college, and I had never really gotten sensitized to alcohol.

I nodded with a timid smile as a reply to Sean.

“There you are,” I heard Norman saying, as he made his way over to me, and sat down next to me for a second. He was fidgety and I looked at him. 

“Hey, I’ll go grab us something to drink. Stay here with Sean, OK? Don’t even thinking about stealing her, man,” he said, winking and bounced up, before I got a chance to tell him to bring me just some water.

“No, w-wait…,” I called after him, but he was already half way to the bar.

Sean laughed out loud and leaned closer, “He’s a bit bouncy, can’t sit still.”

I had noticed that too, but it didn’t bother me at all. I actually was kind of intrigued how much he could bounce and fidget during a short conversation. I, myself, was one of those people who could sit still, read a book and not hear a fire alarm going off. 

Norman returned after a moment, and handed me a glass of brown liquid with ice cubes. I stared into the glass, before looking up at him.

“W-What is it?” it certainly didn’t look like ice tea. My brow furrowed, as I sneered just a little, already knowing the answer.

“Whiskey,” he said, taking a quick gulp from his own glass. 

“I don’t… I c-can’t drink,” I said, feeling embarrassed for not having said anything of this to him before, “T-The medication I’m s-still on - -,” I stuttered as he looked at me surprised.

“No alcohol?” he asked, rather curiously.

I shook my head. As a reply he shrugged his shoulders and took the glass from my hand, pouring the liquid into his own glass and then returned to look at me, and with a wink he placed the glass on a table behind him. 

“Hold on, I’ll go get you a soda then,” he said, leaning closer so that I could hear him, the scruff of his beard scraping against my cheek. I caught myself leaning into that, inhaling the scent of his.

When he bounced off again Sean turned to smile at me. 

“You know, if you keep up with that, you’ll be much better company for him, than anyone I’ve ever known,” he said, and then laughed hard.

“W-What d-do you mean?” 

“He smokes way too much, he drinks too much, he works too much,” he listed, looking at me intently, “You just might be the best that’s happened to him, maybe he’ll finally stop some of his bad habits.”

He couldn’t be serious, now could he? I thought quickly, blushing.

“H-How do you k-know that?” I asked in return, “I could chain smoke cigarettes wrapped in bacon.”

He laughed out loud and leaned closer, pointing his finger towards Norman.

“Wouldn’t believe that for a million bucks, babe,” he said, “But yeah, I mean, he’s a bit of a dork, socially awkward,” he explained chuckling as he draped his arm around my shoulders again, “You know, he’s a bit fidgety and ADD and he can’t sit still for five minutes for dear life, and he irritates the hell out of me sometimes, but you know, all he really needs is someone who can put up with him.”

My eyes never left Norman’s back, as he was leaning over the bar counter.

“He loves his fans unconditionally,” Sean continued, “He’s fiercely loyal to his friends, and he’d do anything to help them if they needed help. But it’s not that simple with the women in his life. They end up being targets of slander and that’s why he rather keeps to himself. But no one can make it out alone, can they?”

His words hit me hard. I didn’t know what to say.

“Though, he seems to be absolutely thrilled that you’re making your way to own that other meaning of a friend,” he finished then. I shook my head unable to say anything in return. If Sean was working his way to make me blush and feel embarrassed, it was working brilliantly.

“What d-do you mean?” I asked, words jumbling together, “We’re j-just friends.”

“I don’t think he sees it that way anymore,” he whispered, like he was letting me in on some big state secret, “I think he wants more, but is just too afraid to ruin the friendship. He’s like that sometimes. He just needs a little nudge.”

I nodded.

“Hey, I’ll go get that drink of yours,” he said then, “I’ll send that dumbass back here.”

He hadn’t been gone for long when I felt someone sit down next to me. 

“Hello there, sweetness.”

I turned to see who it was; it certainly wasn’t Sean or Norman. The man sitting next to me was clearly drunk, and he was looking at me up and down with a gaze that made me shudder. He was tall, and sturdy, narrow, dark eyes and he sported a small mustache and scarce beard. He wore more jewelry than I owned, a purple silk shirt, black vest and dark slacks. 

His left hand slid around my shoulders, as he shifted closer, and then he took my right hand into his. I actually felt angry that someone had the nerve to do something like that as a complete stranger. I jumped a little, when he brought my right hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. With that, I pulled my hand quickly away and moved away from him.

“I’m Tom,” he said and shifted after me. The way he acted, scared me. The way he looked at me scared me even more. 

“Jae,” I murmured hastily my name, and looked down at the floor. 

“Nice to meet you, Jae,” he said, still glaring at me, “You like the place? I own it. Been friends with Norm for years. Are you possibly the songbird Norm’s been talking about?” he grinned, making me frown. I didn’t reply to that. It was rather inappropriate question to ask, but he seemed to interpret my silence as an answer. 

“Interesting,” he said, suddenly even more curious than before. I saw his eyes gleam with fascination, until there was a twinkle that made me feel more nervous by the second. 

“So, you and Norman?” he inquired.

“Just friends,” I replied, dutifully and rubbed my palms together nervously.

“Just friends,” he repeated, still smiling, “Good to know.”

All of a sudden, I was having trouble with breathing. It was all too clear what he was after. I tried to ignore him, and looked over my shoulder to search Norman. I saw him standing by the bar counter, holding his whiskey on his other hand and something I assumed was the soda he had gone to get in the other hand, cozying up with a tall, skinny brunette. She was giggling and touching his bicep, inching closer with each brainless giggle.

The sight made me frown, the feeling of jealousy and anger suddenly seeping in to my consciousness. Why in the world had he brought me here if he was going to - -, I thought but my thoughts were cut quickly by Tom’s hand that made its way onto my thigh. It made me stiffen up. I brushed his hand off making him laugh out loud.

“So, sweetness, care to tell me more about you?” he asked, not phased by the swat of my hand.  
I granted a weak smile to Tom and tried to shift, or at least move slightly away from him, but he was relentless, not allowing me to budge. I couldn’t come up with anything to answer to him so I just mumbled, “What d-do you want t-to know?”

“You two, you’re definitely not - - together?” he asked, leaning closer, making me feel even more uncomfortable.

“J-Just friends,” I stuttered, again. I saw the gleam in his eyes brighten up. I immediately regretted that.

“Well, isn’t that wonderful,” he whispered, “I’m sure I could help you a little.”

“W-What?” I gasped, looking at him. 

“He wouldn’t mind if I just sample a little,” he said, leaning towards me and I felt his other hand slithering around my waist. When I tried to push him away he just laughed.

“Squirming little one,” he whispered into my ear, as I tried to push him away. His lips touched my neck and I wanted to scream out loud, “Maybe I ought to tie you down.”

My breathing grew rapid; my heart sped up, blood rushing in my ears. If it had been any other girl, it wouldn’t have made any difference. But with me, those words came alive quickly and were fast to tie me down. _'Cock'_ encircled around one of my wrists, _'spread'_ held onto the other, _'rape'_ snaked around my ankle, crawling up my leg.

“G-Get away from me!” I snarled, and pushed him as hard as I could, rolling off the couch. I jumped onto my feet, and backed away from the large man. I was still breathing brokenly, suddenly tasting something salty and wet on my lips, and realizing that I was actually crying. He just laughed, and stood up, adjusting his pants.

“Hey! What the hell is going on?” Sean asked as he appeared back to my side, and stared at the other man. Tom stopped and glanced around him, then, he lifted his hands up and bolted from the scene.

“What happened?” Sean asked, looking at me worried.

“I’m - - I’m leaving. Tell it t-to N-Norman, please,” I stammered frightened and disrupted. Was that guy even a friend of his? If he was, what kind of friends he had?

“Tell me what?” he said, behind me. He had apparently ditched the brunette from the bar or had just remembered that he promised me a drink. Not that I wanted to drink anything. I just wanted to leave.

“I’m l-leaving,” I said brokenly, not looking up at him, and slinking between him and Sean and past the couch. I knew I had to make it through the writhing mass of people but I couldn’t stay there either. I pushed past them, receiving several annoyed glares in the process. 

He reached me at the door. His hand grabbed my shoulder as he spun me around and looked at me suspiciously. All I could do was to stare plainly at his chest. He seemed puzzled, and he was scowling when he glared at my face, noticing the tears. 

“What the hell, Jae?” he asked, still holding onto my arms. 

“I j-just - - I need to leave,” at first I didn’t know what to say.

“But I thought - -,” he started. I shot my head up, looking at him this time, “Your friend seemed to think it w-was alright to start h-hitting on me,” I said, with anger in my voice. 

“My friend?”

“Tom something-or-other,” I replied, “I’m leaving, alright?”

Instead of letting me go, he grabbed my wrist and quickly pulling me through the doors and out to the street. This time he ignored all the people calling his name. His hold onto my wrist was painful, and he seemed to be angry. I had to muster all the strength in me not to start crying. 

But when he said, “Come on,” it was so much more calm and kind than I had expected. He guided me to the car and then opened the door for me, before running to the driver’s side and getting in. He shoved the key to the ignition, and started the car, speeding off. I thought that he’d drive straight to my apartment, but instead he parked the car around the block to an empty street. 

“Tom, I don’t know anyone named Tom,” he said turning to look at me, the car still running. I shook my head and looked down. I was too much hurt and afraid to tell him bluntly what had happened. The man was his friend after all. I just didn’t want him to be mad at me.

“Ya were crying,” stating, and leaning closer, and I responded by scooting back. He frowned, and reached down taking my hand by my wrist and holding it gently, as he shifted closer to me again.

I couldn’t move anymore. My breathing hitched and got caught in my throat. Blood was rushing in my ears my sight slowly grew blurry. I was going to have a panic attack if he didn’t let go of me.

“N-No,” I whimpered, but I didn’t even know why.

He brought his hand up to my neck, slowly running his thumb over my cheek, and then gently tilting my head and making me look up at him, though I kept my eyes glued onto the collar of his shirt rather stubbornly. But when he murmured softly something I didn’t quite catch I had to look up at him. His eyes - - they were so blue. My brain wasn’t functioning at all when our eyes locked and I saw that overly familiar friendlier gleam in them. 

“What happened?” he reiterated, still softly stroking my jaw line and cheek.

“Y-You don’t want t-to k-know,” I whispered. 

“What happened?” he repeated.

“I d-don’t think I was explicit enough w-when I told you about how badly I’m afraid,” I whispered. My breathing was jagged, spastic, as I tried very hard to control myself. 

“I t-told you I was afraid, but you just don’t realize that I’m afraid a-all the time. I really believed the party would be a private party, at someone’s house, not at some club,” I sobbed out loud, “That much people, I was completely unprepared to that. I couldn’t even tell your friend to stop - - what e-ever he was t-trying to accomplish!” 

“Who? That Tom? What did he do?” he asked quickly looking at me very much alerted.

“I told you I didn’t want to be tied. But you don’t understand that it’s not just being tied down for real, it’s also the thought of it. He told me I was a ‘squirming little one’ and that he should ‘tie me down’. To me, those are not just words, N-Norman, it turns reality in my head, and I can’t - -,” I explained, trying to keep myself calm, but the painful throbbing that indicated a massive headache approaching was distracting me and the fact that I had to go through this again, expose myself to him once more; I was a mess.

I felt his left hand still hold onto my hand, thumb slowly rubbing the back of my hand. His left hand, made its way back to my neck, fingers ticking the sensitive skin of my neck, running gently over my cheek, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Look at me,” he whispered, and even as I was scared to death, I did look up at him, and into those blue eyes, “Hey, there, Sweetheart,” he whispered, his face so close to mine. He licked his lips, before they curled into a lopsided smile.

“H-Hi.”

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispered, his lips so close to mine and all I could do was to whine softly when he did as he had told. The scruffy goatee tickled my face. His lips were suddenly pressing against mine, hot and heavy. He was gentle at first, kissing my bottom lip, then the upper lip and then slanting his mouth over mine, as I tried to follow his lead still dazed by what he was doing. His tongue moved against my mouth, as I parted my lips. He tasted like cigarette smoke, whiskey, oranges and cherries; I remembered his drink he’d had earlier. Amidst the kissing, I found myself thinking if he could drive or was he intoxicated. I forgot that thought when his kissing turned more urgent, more demanding, and I felt his tongue slowly pushing into my mouth, only to twirl and battling with my own tongue.

I swear I think I saw stars. His left hand moved to the back of my neck, as he pulled me closer, holding me in place, and normally I would have screamed and kicked and shoved him away but, him kissing me made me forget that I didn’t want to be held. I didn’t even know what happened, when I slid my arms up, draping them over his shoulders, around his neck. My fingers tangled into his long, dark brown hair desperately, tugging gently and eliciting some equally desperate moans of his into my mouth. I felt his body pressing against mine, him nearly pulling me up on his lap. I felt his hands travelling up my sides, down my back, finding the waist of my jeans, and making me suddenly shiver in anticipation.

“Mmhh,” I whimpered against his mouth, and after a few seconds he pulled back, his eyes now dark with lust as he looked down at me. My chest was heaving up and down as I tried to catch more air into my lungs that were now screaming with the familiar burning sensation of not getting enough oxygen. He was out of breath too, but he bore it much more gracefully than I did. I probably looked like a fish on dry land.

“Fuck,” he growled, and looked at me, as he rested his forehead against mine. We breathed the same air, and he was still pressed against me. His nose brushed against my cheek, and slowly he began leaving a trail of kisses on my cheek, neck, collarbone, shoulder.

His mouth travelled down to my neck, making me shudder when he nipped the sensitive and sheer skin, kissing, licking and gently biting. I cried out loud when I felt him suck a pulse point on my neck. My hand flew back to his neck, and my body pressed tightly against his. 

“Fuck!” he reiterated, pulling back quickly, brushing his hands over his face and hair before turning to look at me again. 

I stared at him confused. Was he - - disappointed? Had I done something wrong? 

I knew I hadn’t kissed that many guys in my life, but I didn’t know I was that bad.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” I said, trying to take the blame on myself.

“No. It’s me. I’m the one who shouldn’t have done that!” he said, voice husky and low from the kissing, “I fucking took advantage of you.”

“I - - uh… I don’t understand?”

“Fuck,” he barked, leaning back in his seat, and slamming his hands against the steering wheel, “I didn’t want to ruin things. I thought being friends was better.”

“Norman? What are you saying?” 

“We’ve known each other - - what? A year now? There are things that I’m not overly proud of. But then again, I’ve done things with you that I just don’t do because it’s always a risk. I don’t just let people in just like that. And still, you just… keep on being kind to me.”

“Norman, you’re scaring me, now,” I whispered, “What are you talking about?”

“The fact that you’re making me fall for you - - hard.”

It wasn’t just him. At some point over these last months, I had gone and freaking fallen in love with Norman Reedus.


	10. Figuring It Out

The drive was silent. I saw how nervous he was, though. He made at least three mistakes while driving. Then again, it could have been that Old Fashioned he had drank back at the nightclub. Either way this has turned out one stressful evening. His phone rang twice but he ignored that, and eventually closing the whole thing off.

But if he was nervous, so was I. 

I had never, ever, let my guard down like that. I had never allowed those walls I had built around me to crumble down so easily. I had never allowed a guy just go on and kiss me like that either. And this just wasn’t any guy. Even if he had been John Applepie from next door I would still have been shocked by my own actions. Things were too fast, and too unnoticed for my taste. How I had not seen this coming?

I kept quiet, and my eyes glued to the floor of the car. 

There were too many thoughts coursing through my mind to actually be able to voice them out loud. I didn’t know what I wanted! I didn’t know what to think! Or what was the best thing to do! 

When the car came to a stop, I was roused from my thoughts with a start. I looked out of the window, and saw that we were parked right outside of my apartment building. I remained silent, as I reached the door handle quickly and moved to open it. 

But his hand came quickly and gently over my left wrist, begging me to stop – though not in so many words.

“Jae, we need to talk about this,” he whispered, his hand quickly wrapping around mine. His eyes remained casted down when he gave a gentle squeeze. I suspected that he too was rather shocked what had happened. 

“Please?” he said, quickly looking over at me. I sat back into the seat dutifully, and nodded. I thought so too. We needed to talk about what had happened. Only, I didn’t know where to start and how to proceed. So, just to get the awful silence away from between us, I whispered, “I d-don’t know what to s-say.”

He chuckled, closing his eyes, as he shook his head before he replied back to me, “I don’t either.”

I had, or maybe we both had, tried so hard to just be friends, and remain in the friend zone. I had never even hoped for anything more. I had been happy thinking and knowing that he wanted to be my friend. But this, realizing that I had fallen in love with him over such a short period of time, and not just have a damn celebrity crush on him - - this was the hard part. Love was that feeling that usually got people hurt, sooner or later, and I didn’t want to get hurt. 

He brushed his hair back, groaning out loud in frustration. He was out of words. I bit my tongue, realizing that I wasn’t. I wasn’t out of words; I knew what I wanted to say, but I just didn’t know how to say it. I wanted to ask what that kiss had really meant. I wanted to know how invested in this he was.

He looked at me and I flinched. He’d caught me.

“I just - -,” he stammered, frustrated and antsy, “I’m not good at this. I don’t like confrontation,” he barked, and made me jump when he slammed his hands back at the steering wheel. 

“I’m s-sorry,” I whispered, as I turned to look at him. Maybe he didn’t want this even though he was the one saying it out loud at first. It might have been a mistake after all.

“What?” he asked quickly, as his head snapped up, turning to look at me, “Why would you feel sorry?”

I shrugged my shoulders, shaking my head just a little. I was starting to feel nervous and fidgety, but at the same time realizing how much I wanted to kiss him again. And that wasn’t a good feeling at all, if he wanted to stay just as friends.

“I don’t know,” I replied, as I wrapped my arms around myself quickly. I thought if he’d blame me and it would be easier for the both of us. He could just tell me to piss off from his life. I don’t know if I was actually hoping for that but I was already listing things I should do the minute I got back inside my apartment; first, unfollow him on Twitter; second, erase his phone number from my cell; third, move on with your life.

“I don’t think - - I don’t think that kiss was a good idea,” he said with an apologetic tone, and as such, even though I had expected it, shattered my foolish heart. My stomach lurched, and I gasped barely noticeably. Recovering quickly from his words I just nodded, “Yeah, being just friends is better…” I murmured, not even sure if he heard me, “Don’t worry, I won’t b-bother y-you anymore.”

“But I don’t think I can do the ‘just friends’ thing either,” he then added, ignoring my feeble words, as I was about to open the door.

“W-What d-do you m-mean?” I asked, stopping again with the door, voice faltering and betraying how anxious I was. He let out a slight chuckle, and shook his head as he tried to gather his thoughts into something comprehensible. He fidgeted in his seat, and I watched him rub his chin quickly before licking his lips, and turning to look at me.

“Can we just - - take it slow?” he asked.

It wasn’t exactly what I had expected him to tell me. And as he said it I found myself speechless. I blinked, and waited for the shock to die down at least enough for me to reply something to that. He turned to look at me, and my eyes flickered quickly to his lips. He licked them again, and bit the inside of his cheek. It was my turn to fidget in my seat.

Jagged breathing and shivers running up and down my spine didn’t help me at all, both of them being signs of a panic attack, but this time it felt different. I watched as he shifted in his seat, his right hand moving closer to me, sliding over my cheek. I, feeling awfully like a hug deprived kitten, leaned into the warmth of his palm. He smiled a little, staring into my eyes, seeking for a confirmation that I would approve what ever he was bout to do.

And when I did answer to him, I wasn’t sure if I was condoning his actions to come or agreeing eagerly to his request of taking things slow.

“Yes,” I nodded.

Then, he just kissed me again, making me melt into that embrace, and into that kiss, like I was a cotton candy in a rainstorm, and my heart sank into my shoes, when I realized at last how much I wanted him. 

After what felt like hours – when in reality it was only few minutes – I finally managed to whisper that I needed to go. He nodded, and climbed out of the car with me. He got around the car, hurrying over to me. I still kept looking at him like a love sick puppy, and his eyes reflected my own gaze.

“So, slow?” he asked, trying to get a affirmation to the plan of ours.

“Mhmm,” I mumbled, looking into his eyes, shivering in the cool air as somewhere in the city an emergency vehicle’s loud siren nearly ruined the moment. He toyed with my fingers, and I couldn’t force myself to pull my hand away and open the door. Instead, I watched almost hypnotized how he kept touching my hand, like I was going to disappear into the thin air as if I was a fairytale character. 

Slowly – word of the day, as it seemed – he moved his hands from mine, and found their way to my hips. When he stepped closer, his thigh pressed between my legs, while his hands kept me in place, and his lips sought out mine. I don’t know how it looked like from anyone who could have seen us like that, but I knew it was anything but slow. It was desperate and greedy. He pulled back after a while, and we both drew air into our aching lungs. 

“Okay, I better go now,” he groaned, not sounding very convincing at all, as he still kept holding onto me. 

“Mhmm,” I murmured, with a different note. I wanted to ask him to come inside, but that would have been so not taking it slow. But also I didn’t want to build pressure to myself either.

“I’ll call you?” he said, not sounding like he was stating it or really questioning it, but most likely searching yet another confirmation that I actually agreed to this. If I was about to panic, I didn’t feel it. If this was going too fast for my taste, I didn’t feel it either. It just felt too right when I nodded and smiled a little to him. That smile lit up his eyes and he grinned lopsidedly, and again I felt his hands on my face, before he kissed me once more, pressing me against the door. The damn handle pushed against my back and I groaned into his mouth, as I kissed him with the same vigor as he. 

Suddenly I jumped a little, and he pulled back, rosy hue creeping on both of or cheeks.

“Sorry,” he growled, “It’s just that you - -“

“At least I don’t have to m-make i-impotence references,” I giggled, feeling suddenly much bolder than usually. 

“I told you, my junk works just fine,” he whispered into my ear and I blushed, hard.

I pushed him playfully, and he chuckled, taking a step back, adjusting his pants, and winked at me, “I really better go now. Or this is going to be everything but slow.”

I ducked my head and shifted from foot to foot. Finding the keys and inserting it into the lock of the front door. I kept my eyes on his as I opened the door, and backed inside. 

“Good night,” I whispered. 

“Good night, Sweetheart.”


	11. The Day After Yesterday Makes Music Your Love

The shrill sound of my phone going off like crazy next to my bed was the thing that woke me up at 11:30 am. And I woke up groggy and more tired than I had been when I went to bed around 2 am. I had tossed, and turned all night, and had dreams I hadn’t had since I was a teenager.

Bleary eyed I tried to figure out where the hell my cell phone had gone. Another bout of shrill beeps coming from that blasted phone from somewhere near made me groan out loud. I couldn’t find it fast enough, as I kept patting the bed and the desk. 

When I finally located it – on the floor – I was already half off the bed. 

“What?” I barked into the receiver when I found the thing, and answered to it. And to think of it, I could be living in some cabin in Montauk with trees and cats and not even know what a cell phone was. Yeah, such a stellar choice to make with the acting.

“Well, good morning to you too, Sunshine,” Sean chuckled and I sank back into the bed, groaning out loud in annoyance. I tried to kick the blanket aside, but it was wrapped around my feet as a testament of my poorly slept night. The black sweat pants and the grey T-shirt clung onto me as well.

“What do you want?” I grumbled, desperate to end the call, so I could get me a smoke and some coffee. 

“So much love right there, bro,” he laughed out loud unashamed. 

“Did you just call to bug me, Sean?” I asked, kicking and throwing the blanket aside and swinging my feet over the edge of the bed. I leaned against my elbows against my thighs and tried to stretch my sore neck. I needed to remember to make an appointment to my physical therapist as soon as possible. With a groan I stood up and stretched my back. Without caring that Sean was probably going to bitch the hell out at me, I picked up the Zippo and the pack of smokes from the desk, and stumbled my way to the patio. 

“No,” he said in earnest, “Just feeling a little less loved after you ditched me and the others at the club. You’re lucky I had other things to attend here in New York, other wise you’d be sorry you did.”

Walking to the chairs, I popped a cigarette in my mouth and tossed the pack on the table, and then lifted my right foot on the table, “Sorry, man, there was a little emergency,” I said, and reached for the lighter.

“Smoking? Really?” Sean said, just as I had guessed. He’d heard that I had a cig hanging on my lips.

“Shut up.”

“So, what was the emergency?” he inquired.

I stretched my neck, feeling it crack as I took a long drag off the cigarette, sighing out of relief, instantly feeling a little better. I coughed and wished that I had an espresso machine here on the patio, because I could have used that coffee right about now.

“Nothing.”

“You and that Songbird? Getting a little hot and heavy?” he asked, sounding a little too smug for his own good.

“Wow, Sean, that’s - - wait, what? What did you say? Songbird?” I started and instantly caught up with his sudden usage of a nickname; a nickname I had come up with for Jae when I didn’t want to go on and tell everyone her real name.

“Yeah, why?” he asked back.

“She said something about it last night,” I growled, “You were there. She said that there was this guy who was a bit too grabby with her.”

“Yeah,” Sean’s reply was a bit too evasive. He’d seen it.

“Who was it?”

“Thomas Garrett,” he sighed, “You were talking to him and NK. After you went to the bar to get the drinks, he sauntered on and started to talk to her. I only realized what he was doing when she pushed him away and stood up and next thing I know she was leaving.”

NK had been there, and I had been a little bit jazzed about the whole night. I had wanted to introduce her to him and some of the other friends that were gathered together. But I hadn’t paid that much attention to her once we got in. And Garrett had just cornered her. I didn’t even know that the damn club was his, until Sean said his name just a second ago. I knew the guy only as Garrett, but there was a word around the City that he wasn’t so gentlemanly with the ladies.

“Shit,” I groaned out loud, rubbing my palm over my face.

“I should have paid attention what was going. I’m sorry, mate,” Sean said quickly.

“Well, I’m the one who left her alone. God, I’m just a moron.”

I fell silent and returned to the smoke, which I puffed until it was done for. Stumping it in the ashtray I stood up and walked inside, leaving the patio door open. I headed straight to the kitchen.

“So, you two, huh?” he reiterated after a moment, and made me whine.

“Why is it that every time I so much as look at a girl, it becomes a public display and some sort of fun game for you guys? Can’t I just - - take things slow?” I wailed.

“Sure you can,” he laughed, “What about her? She ready to bear your babies?”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” I sighed.

Sean was being a damn realist and I hated it.

I just wanted to have some fun. I thought that I was at least entitled to have some fun in life. Jesus, I wasn’t making a run for it to the Tiffany’s or to the Cartier’s to buy her a fucking ring! I didn’t know what she wanted! We didn’t get to talk about any of this for the simple reason that I had gotten a bit carried away!

“You really like her,” he gloated sing-song-y and made me want to throw the phone into the wall. 

“I’m gonna hang up now,” I replied, and made a mental note to explain this somehow to Jae, as I flipped on the coffee maker and hoped it would actually brew my coffee fast enough.

“Well, I already gathered that you aren’t gonna come here for lunch, but you’re being snappy on the phone is a new thing, even for you.”

“What?”

“We were supposed to meet for lunch,” he said, “I’ve been sitting here for an hour and been eating my food for the past fifteen minutes already so, and you just woke up so, putting two and two together.” There was some of a rustle on his end of the line, and I heard him say something to another person, which I suspected being the waitress. I scowled and rubbed my hand over my face, brushing the hair back. I had forgotten that thing completely.

“Well, shit,” I huffed.

 

* * *

I sat on the seat by the concert piano and followed the lines of notes in front of me. As I kept playing I listened to Marie play the violin next to me, in the half-lit darkness of the Cedar Lake’s dance studio. The auditorium was empty despite the two of us.

This was the second piece of my last bout with composing and I was trying to see if it was any good. Tempo of the song was slow and lazy like a Sunday afternoon when you didn’t have to go anywhere and there was just enough time to burrow into the blankets and pillows of your bed, curling there while wearing nothing but your pajamas. It had also been a similar day when I had written the sheet music for that particular song.

The particular song was also the reason my mind seemed to return to the night a few weeks ago, and to the words Norman had said to me. 

_**I’m going to kiss you now. We’ll take it slow. I’ll call you. Good night, Sweetheart.**_

His words had not stopped echoing in my mind this whole time.

They had just kept spinning on an endless loop inside my head. His kisses kept lingering on my lips, and the feeling of his hands touching my fingers remained on my skin. 

I still saw that moment when I closed my eyes and it felt like I was spying on myself. And every time it made me blush and this was not an exception. I was lucky Marie wasn’t looking at me at that very moment.

I was still so very confused about the whole night. I wasn’t even sure, if it wasn’t just some sort of fitful dream, or a jest created by my mind. I remembered that I had agreed very effectively to the part of us going slow but even taking things with the speed of a snail, I would love to know what we were doing. 

We hadn’t really talked in two weeks, only some odd text messages and funny Tweets every now and then. I figured he was busy with his work, as was I, and hence didn’t want to bother him. I was also secretly glad that he didn’t want to define things over some texting.

He had returned back to Georgia a week from that night, and continued filming that TV show of his. I had immersed myself into finishing the lyrics and songs I had been working on for my third album and also kept composing with my try on classical music.

The song floated forward and I closed my eyes, frowning with concentration, trying to listen to the violin. The piano and my voice were my instruments. I had never mastered the strings in order to be able to try them on my own pieces. I wanted to see if the violin was indeed the real for the song or should it be something like a cello. 

My eyes were closed still, when the song ended and I heard Marie shift, as she lowered her violin and sighed. I turned to look at her, question burning in my eyes if she had any suggestions. There was a content smile on her face as she walked to the piano, and sat next to me to the broad bench. 

“Trés bien, Jae,” she said in French, her native tongue, and smiled. I nodded, making quickly few notes of my own about the song into the leather bound notebook of mine. 

“Thank you,” I mumbled.

“Are you going to perform these songs with us, perhaps in the Autumn repertoire?” she inquired, curious, her French accent thick in her speech. 

I shrugged, as a reply, and shook my head, “I don’t know yet. I doubt it, though.”

“Why not? These are all very - - amazing!” she said, struggling with the words.

“The Autumn program is already signed and sealed, Marie,” I said chuckling a little, “And these songs of mine are far from being finished.”

I stood up and Marie’s gaze followed me incredulously. She huffed and reached for the violin case, lowering her precious instrument into the casing. I kneeled down on the floor where I had spread all the music sheets and eyed at them, trying to figure what to try next. There were seven different songs and all of them seemed to be too incomplete and too rough around the edges for me to actually try any of them.

“Let’s try that one,” Marie said, standing suddenly next to me. Her finger pointed at the song I had named _The Waves_. I picked up the music sheets, and shook my head at her, “This is almost completely for the piano. I haven’t even thought if I want any other instruments along with it.”

“Ah, you can play it then!” she giggled and leaned forward looking over the papers. I shook my head again, and placed the small pile of papers aside. The Waves didn’t need to be tested. 

Marie sat down, cross-legged, and picked up one of the papers and sighed, “You are too good with this,” as she kept reading the notes, and humming them to herself.

“I’m sorry,” I chuckled, and picked up the notes for the Eden and frowned at the paper. 

“No,” Marie said in return, “I mean it. You should talk to Alexandra or Jen. This would be - - umh - - la performance immensément rayonnance - - ah, radiant performance! See, this… I have seen you dance, Jae. You should do it.”

I let out a chortle of laughter, “I’m not much of a dancer in front of an audience. It was always hell to try to do those things at school.”

“Jae, listen to me,” Marie said grabbing my hand, “You let yourself get lost in the music, and you don’t even remember that you have an audience! You have done the same thing with these. You live for the music; you live for the art, for the dance!”

I bit my lip, blinked my eyes several times, as I listened Marie go on about my love for music. Only, that love was always smothered, to a certain extend, by my stage fright. 

“You need to call them,” Marie said sternly, and nodded her head handing me back the paper that held the sheet music for a piece called Bianche, one of the three songs I had actually danced at home. It made me shudder, but I looked at Marie’s eyes and she nodded again. 

“I want to see you dance, because I know you can do it. You are extraordinaire, mon amie!” 

I let it at that. I didn’t promise anything but I didn’t deny anything either. I had thought about it, for sure, but I had never actually acted upon it because I knew I would chicken out sooner or later creating a mess of a different kind.

Luckily she let it at that too. We tested only two other songs after that and after we were finished, we packed our stuff and headed out. She headed to her car, and I declined a ride as politely as I could telling her that I needed to sort things out and walking seemed to be the best way to do it.

She drove past me, and waved her hand, leaving me alone with my thoughts; too many of them. I headed back home well knowing that I had about an hour to think all I wanted because that’s what it would take for me to get back home.


	12. This Is Your One Chance

“That’s a wrap!” I heard the director shout out loud and I sighed. I had a week off after this and for the life of me I could not come up with any excuse to stay in Georgia for that time. Normally, I would just stay in the house because I wanted to take a break from the filming and from all the people, and maybe concentrate into photography or painting. But not this damn time, apparently.

I had tried – Lord knows I had tried! – to paint but it just didn’t work out. Everything I seemed need to work on any piece I had on the works was in New York. That certain paint brush, that certain paint, this and that canvas, that certain rig that I had hanging in my apartment that I had been working for quite some time now. And despite there being an awesome city right around the corner so to speak, with equally amazing collection of art supplies and craft stores I was feeling extremely picky when it came to buying things for my works. I had tried photography, too, but I couldn’t concentrate to the pictures, even though almost all of them turned out great. I just snapped them and moved on. 

Yeah, even I didn’t buy that bullshit that I was trying to force feed on myself.

I could have had them delivered from New York in a matter of hours, just lock myself in the house and enjoy some damn peace and quiet for a change, and keep telling myself that it was exactly what I wanted, but damned if I was kidding myself.

I dropped the props I had been lugging all morning, and sighed. I was filthy, there was fake blood, sweat, decomposed flesh and dirt and ash all over and I needed a good steaming hot and long shower. 

Making my way through the set towards my trailer I tried to figure out what to do with myself for the next week. There was absolutely nothing. Mingus was staying with his mother, I was free as a bird, and I could have tried to see friends and family during this week, but nothing seemed to spark enough for me to actually go through with that trouble. And there was a perfectly twisted reason for that. Because, every fucking night for the past three weeks, I had stared at the phone, and started to make a call to Jae, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. 

I got to my trailer without anyone interrupting and quickly entered. There was a pile of mail sitting on the couch waiting for me to tackle that problem, but I seriously needed that shower first. Tossing the clothes on the couch, I skipped quickly into the shower cubicle.

After a long 30 minute shower I finally stepped out, all pruny and red like a lobster, but I was clean. I still couldn’t stop thinking about Jae. I had sent her text messages, sure, even some DMs through Twitter. I had re-tweeted two of her tweets that were about her oncoming album and I had thought her about every second of my waking moments to the point of screwing up scenes left and right. She had answered to all of my messages, though. And I was seriously glad about that.

But I didn’t know how to start telling her what it was that I wanted. I didn’t even know how to tell her how I felt, and what I thought of this - - thing, or what ever it was. I had told Sean that all I wanted was to have a little bit of fun after the previous relationship threw a hissy fit at me, and that I wasn’t exactly looking for anything serious but then there was this gnawing feeling in my gut that wouldn’t leave me the hell alone. 

Of course Andy had noticed, and while we were tackling all that fan mail one day during a longer than usual break due to some broken thing, he’d squeezed the truth out of me.

“I’m sorry, what?” he’d stared at me for quite some time, holding onto a letter without even reading it, “You and Jae Howard? She - - You - -,” he’d stuttered and huffed, that turned into laughter.

“Well, I kissed her,” I’d growled and ripped open a package and pulled out a stuffed animal and a letter. I looked at the toy and smirked. Another one to put in my collection. 

“And then what?”

“What do you mean _‘and then what’_?” 

“Did you two - - you know,” he’d said, and blushed. He was the weirdest sometimes. Here he was a grown ass man and blushing at the thought of someone having sex. 

“No, Andy, we didn’t fuck,” I’d barked, deliberately using crude language to make him feel even more embarrassed. 

“You don’t have to be a dick about this, I was just asking!” he’d snapped back at me and tossed the empty envelope on the floor placing the letter on a small cardboard box.

“Yeah,” I’d mumbled.

“So, was that it or are you gonna hook up again?” he’d asked, looking at me curiously, “Are you going to fly back to the City?”

“Mhmm,” I’d mumbled and chewed on my bottom lip. 

“Have you even talked to her after what ever it was you two did?” he’d asked again, which started to irritate me more and more.

Again there’d been a wall of silence when I didn’t answer. It was hard enough for me to try to figure out what to do about this situation, without Andy or Sean, or the entire world just harassing me about it constantly.

“You know, she’s going to want to know,” he’d started, “You know, what you two are. She’s going to want to define your thing,” he’d added, sounding a bit too sing-song-y for me to take it as some brotherly advice.

“You should either tell her that you two aren’t exclusive, so that she doesn’t need to keep on waiting for you to - -,” he’d continued, going on before I interrupted him by throwing an envelope a him.

“Stop being a dick, Andy,” I’d barked.

“Or you need to _cowboy the fuck up_ and call her and tell her what ever it is that you two are!” he’d continued unflapped by my commenting. 

“I already got ribbed by Sean, thanks! I’ll tell you what I told him that it was just for fun,” I’d groaned, hardly believing myself. He laughed, that bastard, and stood up, still chuckling. He’d looked at me, with a broad grin and said, “Yeah, have you seen yourself behaving? Stop kidding yourself, and admit it. You’re so deep in the Love Creek that you just can’t get out of it.”

He’d left it at that.

I’d watched, completely stunned, while he’d piled the fan mail and the letters and the gifts into the cardboard box and walked to the door of my trailer, and disappear outside. With that, I’d been left alone, and I threw my arms up in the air, before lowering them down over my eyes, and groaned in frustration.

She had said with a serious face that I didn’t even know her. 

Jesus, how right was she? 

But why the hell it just kept feeling like I did and I wanted to?

Yeah, I was the sorry prick who just couldn’t make that first move. With a deep, exaggerated sigh I reached for my phone and searched her number quickly, and then called.

* * *

After two weeks of just text messages and tweets, I started to believe that it had been a mistake to get involved with him. It felt such a foolish dream amongst nightmares wrapped in some old fashioned movie magic that really wasn’t true. It certainly felt as such at that moment when I made my way down the stairs and out of the door of the Cedar Lake’s dance studio.

Over the past three weeks we had been exchanging text messages, or DMs and re-tweets here and there, but we had not spoken to each other. He had done mostly PR work in Twitter, and he’d been on either end of the country for interviews followed by a very intense schedule for filming of the show. With that I had lulled myself into thinking that he probably had a lot in his mind at the moment. A girl in New York was probably least of his thoughts. Then again, I was insecure enough to think that what ever it had been – that kiss and the promise to call – it was probably being rethought in his mind right about now. It was definitely rethought in my mind. 

I cringed and took a deep breath. Usually things like this were just for the fun of it. I refused to hold my breath over the matter. If I was nothing but some past time fun, then everything would die down slowly, and I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. 

The past three weeks had actually given me enough time to finish my composing and finally write down all the lyrics ready for the next album. That had been enough to detach myself from the thought of him.

It had actually worked for a while. When I had read the lyrics to the song I had written down last I had been almost on the verge of tears when I realized that I had consciously or subconsciously written down something that I was afraid already; a broken heart. And then I had forced myself to start over. 

Yes, I had wanted to call to him, but I didn’t know what to say. I feared that if I’d call him, there’d be that one thing I hated and feared the most: rejection. 

Maybe all this was just in my head, and maybe I was truly just dreaming of this, or maybe I was slowly loosing it, and this was just a reflection of my own paracosm while I lay succumbed under the influence of tranquilizers in some mental institute. I was too insecure and too afraid to make that first move. But thinking back, I feared that I might not be strong enough to say ‘no’ if he was just using me. 

I shuddered, as I walked down the street. Just good ten minutes ago I’d had a meeting with Jen De Santo, director of Cedar Lake, who had granted me two performances if I directed them myself. 

Two performances!

I shuddered, feeling oddly empty and giddy at the same time. 

That had been more or less the first indicator that I had certainly reached the point of madness, as I had accepted her offer without even thinking of it. She had always been rather few with her words, but what she had actually said just a mere moment ago still had struck home.

_“If I did not believe in your abilities, Miss Howard, I would have never hired you as a member of this group,” she had said, while sitting across the table, one knee over the other, and her hands resting neatly placed on top of her other knee. I had been as calm and collected as possible, while explaining to her how I saw the possible performance, what I had planned for it, and what kind of music I intended to use.  
“You have been a member of the ensemble cast almost every year, Miss Howard. I have seen your abilities, I have heard your music, but unfortunately there are only so little I can offer you,” she had said, and I had been sure she’d reject the idea, “I cannot grant you more than two full performances, two weekends, at the moment.”_

And as such, I was still somewhat dazed and completely taken by surprise as I kept walking, weaving through the people. I walked down the West 26th Street, and decided that I’d want to make a stop at the Madison Square Park. It wasn’t by the normal route I usually took when walking back home, but this time I wanted to just sit down in a park, and gather my thoughts. It would be a change in the scenery and I had always loved that park, and definitely something other to occupy my thoughts. The park might have been just what I needed to determine what I actually wanted. 

I made it towards the park with a reasonably good speed, and was about three blocks from it when my phone began ringing. 

I looked at the screen and stopped in the middle of the street. It was him.

I glanced around myself, quickly making my way to the side of the sidewalk, and leaned against a brick wall of a building. I slid the screen answering to the call, and brought the phone to my ear.

“H-Hello?” my voice was more timid than I intended, and I quickly bit my lip, to stop me from going on, rambling or blurting out anything stupid.

“Hi, it’s me,” his voice filled my ear, after I answered, “The dick who couldn’t pick up the phone.”

He made me chuckle a little, and I heard him sigh out relieved. I would be lying if I didn’t say that not talking to him – even after he promised – didn’t hurt me a little, but I knew better than to start screaming at him. So, instead of throwing it back against him, I shrugged my shoulders, and said softly, “It’s fine, Norman. You were probably busy.”

“I thought you’d rip me a new one,” he said, shuffling something, “And there you go, being too kind to someone who just doesn’t deserve it.”

I bit my lip harder, feeling the metallic taste of my blood on my tongue, “I’m n-not like t-that,” I stammered an answer, hearing the shock and sudden irritation on my voice. Like he didn’t know I wouldn’t do that.

Well, he might have thought I would, he didn’t actually know me that well, I thought quickly, scolding myself from feeling irritated. 

“No, you’re not,” he replied softly, almost lovingly, “And I’m sorry for being a dick. I really wanted to talk to you. But I wanted to do that in - - in person,” he continued, “And - - damn… I just didn’t know how to say that. As stupid as it sounds right about now.”

“Y-You’re coming b-back to New York?” I asked, perking up quickly, feeling how my heart rate gained speed. Heat crept on my cheeks as I tried not to grin like a manic baboon, to the possibility of seeing him again, and maybe hashing this thing over. 

“No,” he said. A wave of displeasure flushed over me and I sunk back against the wall, “Oh…” I murmured in sudden disappointment.

“I was hoping I could persuade you to fly here? To Georgia?” he said then, and I knew he had heard how it had affected me because there was laughter and even a little tease in his voice. 

“W-What?”

“Look, I’m stuck here, for the next three months, barring some pre-booked things and interviews here and there and I was just hoping that you’d - - you know - - would like to talk, and get together, something,” he babbled, his voice trailing off at the end, making my chest suddenly ache.

“Y-Yes,” I breathed out an answer, before I would have enough time to over think anything, because I wanted – desperately so – to see him again, talk things over! Cold shivers ran down my spine, as I smiled, feeling heat on my cheeks, and that fluttering butterfly feeling in my stomach. 

“Yes?”

“Yes. Definitely yes. I c-can do that. I’ll fly there,” I nodded quickly, smiling a bit more now.

“Jesus,” he said, huffing out a breath which I thought he’d been holding in, “Yeah!”

When he shouted out his contentment I let out a giggle. Maybe this wasn’t a nightmare after all. 

* * *

The minute the plane landed in Atlanta I was relieved. 

If I hated and feared riding in a car, flying was the worst thing ever. Planes, big tubes up in the sky and you tethered to the seat? Not fun in the least, I tell you. Luckily, it took only about two and a half hours to get from LaGuardia to Atlanta. And luckily I didn’t have to wait for days on end to get on the flight. I was out the door three hours after the phone call, and on the next flight out of New York.

I resorted to the ultimate thing and took a mild sedative and listened to music the entire flight. The only moment when I was starting to panic was when I was forced to wait for people in front of me to slowly trickle out of the plane. Being left between the people in front of me moving too slowly, and the people behind me wanting to get out faster, felt like I was being squeezed to death. I bit my cheek, while squeezing my shoulder bag’s strap so tight that my knuckles turned white. I already started to feel how my breathing hitched and forced myself to start counting back from one hundred. 

“This way, Miss,” a flight attendant finally said and gestured towards the door from which I slipped out as quickly as possible. The minute I began walking down the hall to the terminal, I felt like I could breathe again. 

I made my way down the hall, and to the baggage claim, but of course I had to wait for my backpack for quite a while. Standing there, by the conveyor belt waiting for it to come to life took quite some time and gave me some time to think, unfortunately. I found myself thinking that this might have been a mistake to come here. 

What did I want out of this thing? If anything.

What did he want out of it? 

At the point where I was about to have a panic attack just thinking about confronting him, the conveyor belt hummed into life. People began idly walking towards it and browsing the bags to locate their own. Looking at the passing bags I waited rather patiently for my own that was among the last ones to arrive. I picked it up, and swung it over my shoulder. 

I had not bothered to pack too much belongings, because I wasn’t sure how long I would stay. Even if he was having a week off, I might just stay for the weekend.

I looked around myself, frowning, quickly finding the indicators for an exit. I had an address where to go, but I wasn’t sure exactly how I would get there. Thinking about that, I hurried to the escalator leading to the ground floor, trying to weave through the masses of people at the same time. 

Half way down the escalator I noticed a lieu of men in suits standing near the escalators and the exit holding signs of peoples names. As I got closer, I noticed one of the men, a tall, middle aged with a sandy blonde hair holding a sign that read ‘Jay Howard’. I bit my lip, and thought if that was actually for a person called Jay Howard or if it was yet another misspelling mistake of my name. Timidly I approached the man, wearing a black suit, white shirt, and a black tie. I tilted my head my head at the sign and then looked up at the man, as much as my courage allowed me to. 

“I - - I think that r-refers t-to me,” I mumbled, “Minus t-the little m-misspelling of my name, but y-yeah, I think t-that’s me.”

He smiled, not surprised in the least about my words, and nodded, “Ah, yes. I was told that the lady in question would understand the name,” he said and winked, “My name’s Harris.”

“Oh,” I mumbled, looking at him in confusion.

“I was told to expect a lady by the name of Jae Howard, but misspell the name on the plaque, Ma’am,” he said, “May I take your bag?”

“Uh, s-sure,” I said softly, and let the backpack slide down from my shoulder, before I handed it to him, “So, you w-were instructed to misspell my name?” I added, still rather confused. 

“By the orders of one Mr. Dixon,” he said seriously, without any joking in the tone.

“R-Right,” I replied, and nodded. I bit my bottom lip again, and wondered how much trouble he had to go through every day just by keeping things such as this as a secret. 

The man asked me to follow him and we walked out of the terminal, and to the awaiting cars just outside the main entrance. There were limousines, cabs and minivans. He led me to a large black SUV and opened the trunk to lift my bag in, before he moved to open the back door for me to climb in the car. I slid in, and glanced at the seatbelt with dread in my eyes. I reached for it, but my hand began trembling so much that I had to let go of it. Still trying to fight the mild panic rising from inside of me, I was startled by the drive who had just sat in the front seat.

“Mr. Dixon told me to drive you directly to his house,” he said, looking at me through the rearview mirror, “It should take about an hour to get there, Ma’am,” he added.

I nodded and let the seatbelt be. If the driver didn’t point out about it I could leave it be, as I couldn’t force myself to put the seatbelt on. Hopefully we wouldn’t run into police who’d want to complain about my not wearing one either. 

* * *

The car rolled slowly in front of a house in the middle of the woods. The driver quickly got out of the car, opening the backdoor before moving to the trunk and opening it to pull out my bag. I climbed out of the car, looking around myself, seeing the vast grassy front and back yard and several trees blocking the view to the road behind us. There were several other houses right around the corner, almost back to back, but there also were trees between the houses. I kept my eyes on the surroundings, curious and a little baffled. It was hot, and humid, and there was no such thing as a breeze of wind. The sound of cicadas chirring all around was deafening. 

“Here you go, Ma’am,” the driver Harris said, offering the bag back to me, “I was also tasked to give you this,” he said, and handed me an envelope. I took it, as well as the bag, that I swung over my shoulder yet again, and padded the envelope curiously. I ripped the top open and smiled a little, when I found a key inside. Assuming immediately that it was for the house I looked up at Harris and smiled a little.

“Thank y-you,” I said softly, biting my cheek quickly, “Oh, I should p-probably g-give you - -,” I started thinking feverishly if I had any money in my purse.

“No need, Ma’am, I was already tipped,” he said, and winked, “The man seems to like you a lot.”

I blushed, and ducked my head down, letting out a nervous chuckle. With that, Harris walked back to the car chuckling to himself and got inside the car. He waved his hand, and I watched him turn the vehicle around, before driving away leaving me to stand in the middle of the yard staring at the building painted brown. 

I walked unhurried to the front door, looking around, noticing a glimpse of a pool in the backyard. When I turned to look at the trees near the porch, I saw there were several arrows stuck on it, which oddly enough, didn’t surprise me at all.

I climbed the few steps to the porch, walked to the door, and slid the key into the lock. As I pushed the door open and entered the house, lowering my bag on the floor, and then closing the door, my phone began ringing. Quickly finding it from my bag, I answered it exasperated, “H-Hello?”

“Hey, there,” his voice greeted with an amused tone and I thought he was smiling. 

“H-Hi,” I replied, barely a whisper. 

“Got at the house safely?”

“Yes, I d-did. Thank you for asking.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t come pick you up, I’m still in the woods and we’re trying to get this scene done, which will be the last one for the next week for me,” he said, his voice quickly trailing off, not wanting to say anything that might be considered as spoiler.

“It’s fine,” I said quickly and shook my head even though he couldn’t see it.

“There’s a guest bedroom upstairs, third door on the right. The second one is a bathroom. Just make yourself at home and I’ll be there as soon as I get out of here,” he explained quickly, sounding anxious. I couldn’t help but think of the same thing, feeling anxious myself.

“A-Alright,” I mumbled, “H-Have fun.”

“Always, Sweetheart,” he replied with a chuckle and we ended the call.


	13. Can’t Let You Screw This Up

Entering the house after that made me gasp out loud. It was dusky, no other light source but the weak light that streamed through the trees behind the windows, and it felt oddly fresh, like it was brand new. My hands trembled when I dropped my bags on the floor, and closed the door behind me. The place was quiet, and I could hear my own breathing, and every step I took seemed to echo, making me feel slightly uncomfortable, as if I was bothering someone. I nervously rubbed my hands together, and carefully looked around. I didn’t bother to put on lights, as I saw quite well without. The feeling of me actually bothering someone wouldn’t leave me. I was, after all, a stranger in someone else’s house.

The decoration was rather minimalistic, but there was a big couch in the middle of the living area, some book cases, a large flat screen TV mounted on the wall, and some kind of a credenza underneath it, crowded with gaming units and whatnot. 

I suppose if I was into interior decoration all that would have meant something, but I barely even registered that. I saw only the pictures, and paintings and sculptures that were on the walls, on the floor, dropped here and there. With that, I moved to walk over to the first framed photograph on the wall, nearly tripping over on my bag. 

I blinked several times, when I looked up at the wall, at the pictures hanging on it. 

Every single picture made my chest ache. 

There was a lump in my throat as I walked from picture to picture, touched the frames very carefully as if it had been the Louvre and an alarm would go off the moment you’d touch the frames or the pictures.

They were all dreadful and beautiful at the same time, sorrowful and desperate.

There was certain air of pain and pleasure in them all.

Most of them were black and white, but there were several full color pictures placed amongst. I shuddered when I noticed that some of the pictures presented road kill, but even as they made me want to heave, I couldn’t turn away. They were too captivating, too haunting. There were possums, but also a cat, a dog, someone’s pets. 

I moved down the hall, and saw a trail of framed pictures placed on the wall. This time they were more or less of personal nature, and I saw him with a young boy, a woman I didn’t recognize, some other people that I assumed were his family members, a gorgeous brunette holding a baby and many others.

Dropped here and there were paintings, and I assumed they were his works, but I recognized at least two of the paintings, done by the same two siblings that had painted my three painting collection back at home. I bit my bottom lip, and swallowed, forcing myself to ignore the lump that was slowly but steadily building bigger.

My fingers tingled when I looked at the pictures. There was a sudden wave of regret washing over me, telling me quickly that this was a mistake, that I shouldn’t have come. That feeling changed quickly into longing that I had not felt in several years. I realized I missed my parents, but there was too much water under the bridge, I didn’t want to miss them. In an effort to try and control that feeling, I realized suddenly that I was crying. I quickly wiped my cheeks and eyes. 

This was ridiculous that photographs of his family were the trigger for me to start crying. I looked at a picture of him and his son, and sniffled feebly.

It hurt.

Forcing myself to swallow the tears, taking deep breaths and steadied myself I looked down the hall and followed the pictures at the end of it. There was a door, slightly ajar, and I peeked inside out of curiosity. It was somewhat of a studio. I noticed several paintings and sculptures in the works. But since they were works in process, I stepped back, and closed the door after me, not wanting to pry.

Hurriedly I made my way back to the living area, and to the couch. 

I took off my jacket, and shoes, placing the boots on the floor next to the couch, and folded my jacket neatly over the armrest. I pulled my backpack into my lap and opened it pulling out a change of clothes, black sweatpants and a sleeveless top. I changed into them, quickly and stuffed my other clothes back into the bag, and then folded my jacket over it.

I felt out of place, and nervous. The clock on the wall showed it was almost 9 pm. And I was more or less feeling like I shouldn’t have come here, when I sat back down on the couch, and crossed my legs. Resting my hands against my ankles I twiddled with my fingers. I should have probably found that guest bedroom and maybe find something to eat, but I was too dazed. I had actually just gotten in a plane and flown to Georgia.

I never did anything that spontaneous! I kept that brick wall and those inner restraints up for a reason. I didn’t want to get hurt. The turn of the events had left me seriously questioning my own mental health. 

* * *

It took longer than I expected to get back home. There were all kinds of things to prep and prod and people were driving me up the wall with their questions and someone had set up an interview as well that I hadn’t even heard before.

It was already dark, when I parked my bike in front of the house that was equally dark, and I frowned. Was she even there? Or had she just turned around on her heels and left? Maybe she was asleep.

I killed the engine, pulled the helmet off and swung my leg over the bike, to climb off. I made my way to the door and unlocked it. The downstairs was dark, and I couldn’t see anything. When I closed the door as quietly as possible, and switched on the lights of the hall, I saw something on the floor by the couch.

Her bag. At least she hadn’t left. 

I made my way to the couch, and looked down at the sleeping figure of hers on it, and leaned against the back of the couch just to look at her. She was fast asleep, clutching a couch pillow, curled in a ball on my couch. And here I was perving at her sleeping. But, I couldn’t help myself.

So, I watched. Her hair falling over her face, down from the couch, as her head rested on the edge. I watched her slightly parted lips, as she drew in a deep breath. Her legs tangled up with each other as she was pulled into a tiny little ball at the corner of the couch. And as I watched her hugging that grey pillow from the couch so much that it made me feel goddamned jealous.

_Over a damn pillow._

Jesus, she looks beautiful right now, I thought quickly, before I gently let my fingers slide over her cheek, down to her neck, and to her bare shoulder.

“Hey,” I whispered, touching gently her shoulder, with my fingertips, trying not to spook her or be too rough, as I shook her a little.

“… hmm?” she murmured, stirred awake carefully, brought her hand to her face, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. 

“You fell asleep?” I asked, feeling suddenly more stupid than a damn chicken to ask her such a question. Of course she had fallen asleep. Her eyes fluttered before she opened them, and looked up at me. There was a sudden jolt of happiness surging through me when she didn’t seem frightened, and she smiled timidly at me.

Smiled. She smiled at me. And goddamn that smile.

She smiled like this so rarely and now when she was still dazed from sleep, and wasn’t experiencing any inhibitions and smiled at me, I couldn’t get enough of it. 

I swear, I get drunk from that smile. Like an addict, I wait to see that smile.

“Let’s get you to bed, alright?” I whispered, and leaned forward to lift her up. She rested her head against my shoulder and still smiling whispered, “Norman?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Sweetheart,” I groaned a little, when I picked her up, “I’m right here.” 

“I missed you,” she whispers, and I very nearly dropped her down that instant. She was half asleep, probably even unaware of what she was saying but it still made my skin crawl, and my whole body ache.

“I - - uh - - missed you, too,” I whispered back and made my way to the stairs, carrying her up as carefully as I could. 

* * *

A loud crash and a bout of cussing woke me up the next morning. I sat up and looked around and realized I was in bed, still wearing the sweatpants and the top I had changed into last night. My jacket was neatly placed on a chair on top of my shoulder bag, and next to it – on the floor – was my backpack. I had fallen asleep last night on the couch before he got home. And now I was in the bedroom, because - - he’d carried me here. I buried my face into my palms and let out a groan.

Feeling utterly embarrassed, I flinched; removing the blanket I had on top of me, and clambered up from the bed. I walked over to the window, and looked outside and hissed a little at the sudden brightness of the morning. I groaned in contempt and turned around, deciding that I should definitely head downstairs and meet my host. 

“Oh, hey, you’re - - you’re awake,” his voice came from the door, and I spun around to see him looking at me. 

“H-Hi,” I stammered, trembling a little. I felt my hands twitch, and I took a step towards him. Somehow there was a misconception running amok inside of me that thought we were completely and utterly a couple. I stopped myself before embarrassing me altogether. 

“Hey,” he said this time much huskier, and laced with laughter. When I looked up at him, I saw the corners of his lips twitching up as he tried to control himself. I smiled a little, and noticed him, too, shudder a little. 

“I – uh – I carried you here, hope you don’t mind?” he said, gesturing towards the bed, as he leaned against the door frame, other hand in his jeans’ pocket. I tilted my head, realizing that there was a pink hue to his cheeks. I was the one normally blushing and living for the awkwardness, but this time it felt agonizing not to be able just have him kiss me already. And yes, I shocked myself with that thought, as soon as I thought of it.

I shook my head, “N-No, I don’t mind.”

“Good,” he said, grinning, “C’mon, breakfast is ready,” he added.

“O-Oh? Alright then,” I replied following him out of the guest bedroom. He looked at me over his shoulder, and I was certain that we both felt the awkwardness to the umpteenth power. I had never been good with this, getting to know people. Even though I wanted to be close to a person, I never really could do it. 

We passed his bedroom door, that was completely ajar, and I saw the half made bed, lamp on a nightstand, accompanied by a pack of smokes, a lighter and something that looked like an ashtray as well as some papers. There was a picture of a shark hanging above the bed and I stared at it. 

“Jaws,” he said behind me and I realized I had stopped at the door. 

I blushed when I turned to look at him, before shifting my eyes to look at the floor, and rubbed my left hand over my right bicep. I wasn’t supposed to stop. I was supposed to follow him downstairs. 

“R-Right,” I stuttered, and nodded.

“It’s fine, you can look,” he said, taking a step closer, and leaning himself against the doorframe, his eyes on me, observing.

“I didn’t mean to,” I mumbled, and took a quick glance around his bedroom. There was another bunch of pictures on another credenza on the opposite wall from the bed and I peeked at them quickly. Many of them were of him and his son, I imagined. 

“Mingus,” he said, and pointed at the picture of a blonde boy making a face at the camera, “My son.”

I nodded, biting my lip. 

My chest began aching again, and because of that I had to wrap my arms around myself quickly. It was weird that for a person who was dead scared of being tied, wrapping my own arms around myself tightly always seemed to help when I was feeling panicky. I looked at the pictures, as I carefully wandered in and felt him following me. He picked up some pictures, and showing them to me, and then explaining what they were about. I smiled to most of those explanations. 

“So, yeah, between both Helena and me torturing him with a camera, he’s pretty used to it from our part,” he chuckled, “Luckily the public leaves him alone most of the time.”

There was a hint of sadness in his voice, and I imagined it being because he wasn’t with his son at the moment. 

“He’s with his mother now,” he said and shrugged.

I nodded again and looked up at him, seeing him frown a bit, and as if to confirm my thoughts, looking surprisingly sad.

“M-Maybe y-you should h-have spent y-your free t-time with hi-him?” I asked, turning around, and moving my eyes to look at the large picture above the bed. The shark in it seemed ready jump out, “I mean… I c-could…” I started to explain, but the words just didn’t come out.

“Nah,” he shook his head, “Ming’s got school and friends, and Helena might wanna see the kiddo too,” he said, and then laughed, “Besides, we were supposed to talk, right?”

The gnawing feeling inside of me grew bigger; a seed of incredulity, that wouldn’t leave me alone. The pictures of his family, his son, the boy’s mother, things that were important to him, all of them played in my mind on a loop; and in that loop, I didn’t see myself in anyway as a part of his life. I had allowed myself to think too much before, and I had thought that maybe there was a chance for this to work, but still, something ate me from the inside out. I looked at him, and nodded again, as a reply that we were supposed to discuss. Gnawing feeling grew more intense, and my heart began aching, when I was all but certain that I would be too boring and too ordinary for him. I didn’t want to lead him on any longer, but how could I tell him that I was so afraid that it would probably be the best for the both of us that he’d forget me the minute I left this house?

I felt him step closer and slide his hands on my shoulders, making me gasp out loud from the sudden contact, and shuddered, when I leaned back against him. I kept biting my bottom lip in order to keep my mouth shut. His hands moved down skimming over my arms before he settled them on my hips, pulling me into a tight hug. He breathed against my neck, and I quickly forgot everything I had just thought of, when he kissed me right below my ear.

“Jesus, I wanted to do this last night so bad…” he murmured and held me against him tighter. His words just hit me and I couldn’t help but smile. I didn’t feel like crying, or running, I just wanted to be right there. I rested my head against his chest and whispered back, “Me too.”


	14. Cigarette/French Toast/Horse Theory

I loved how his arms felt around me, and not make me feel trapped. The panic was still there, as a tiny seed, but it didn’t grow when he held onto me, and that made me relax, and enjoy every second of it. 

I had to keep my eyes closed, because I didn’t want to face the reality of the situation just yet. I wasn’t panicky, but I was afraid that this was it. I didn’t know why.

The house around us was silent, and I heard both of our breathing as soothing distraction. I could hear my own heart drumming faster and faster, and my blood coursing through me and eventually roaring in my ears. 

It would have been a stinking lie, if I would say it didn’t shock me at all to all of a sudden to feel this way and let a man – I barely knew – hold me in such a way, standing behind me. I had agreed to this myself. I had wanted to come, and I wanted to get to know him, so it felt different. My brain and me still tried to fight it, but apparently my stupid little heart seemed to have gotten fed up with the brick wall of mine and was now tearing the bricks down one by one with determination.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to start crying. 

After a short while, Norman made a move, shifting from foot to foot, and gently pulled back from the hug. Quickly turning around to face him, I placed my hand on his arm and shook my head, even though I dreaded for his reaction. My voice cracked when I breathed out, “P-Please, n-not yet.”

I held my palm on his arm gently, stopping his movement to break our contact, “What is it?” he asked.

“Just do-don’t go yet,” I said, my voice registering barely above a whisper.

He didn’t argue with me, just stepped back and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me to him. 

I sighed relieved, lowering my head on his shoulder, and moving my arms around him; one around his torso, and the other curling under his shoulder and finding a resting place on his neck. I returned to control my breathing, and calm myself down. Without paying much attention to what I was doing, I began to twirl his hair around my fingers, and felt him tensing for a moment, before he relaxed a bit. I heard a sigh escaping from his lips, when he felt my fingers tangling into his wisps.

He tilted his head to look down at me, “What is it? Something wrong?”

“N-No,” I whispered, and shook my head vigorously, “I just - - I j-just really needed this,” I finished stammering. My eyes welled with tears, but they weren’t tears of sadness, they were happier ones.

If there’s one thing you actually miss the most when you’re afraid of being held or touched for that matter; it’s human contact, and right now, Norman was giving me all the human contact to my soul’s content. He bent over a little, just to look into my eyes and nodded, still frowning though, as if he understood what I meant. I wasn’t sure if he did, but it seemed as such. I felt his hold tightening around my shoulders, and I nestled against the crook of his neck, and kept tugging and twirling his hair. He groaned softly, shifting from foot to foot, and I felt him swallow hard. If he hadn’t felt nervous before, he was feeling it right now. 

“S-So, h-how embarrassed I sh-should be right n-now?” I asked softly, wiping my eyes, when I finally felt steady enough to step back from the embrace. My cheeks felt heated and I couldn’t make myself look up at him. 

“Not at all,” he laughed out loud, “Why should you be?”

“F-For g-going all girly o-on you,” I said, rubbing my arm, as I turned around to face the door of his bedroom. His bedroom. Feeling embarrassed that we were inside of his bedroom, I realized this wasn’t the right place to be right now. Things were moving forward a slightly too fast for my taste, and even though I could easily imagine him and I tangled with each other on his bed, the walls of his bedroom soon began to close in on me, making me feel panicked.

“D-Didn’t you s-say something about a b-breakfast?” I asked and made him nod as an answer. He walked up to me, and offered me his arm and I took it. He didn’t say anything else, only guided me to the door, but I saw how the corners of his mouth were tugging up and soon he was grinning broadly.

* * *

The breakfast he was offering wasn’t self-made. When we got downstairs, he showed me a seat by the table, and scratched the back of his head admitting that he couldn’t cook for dear life. 

“I can poach an egg,” he shrugged his shoulders, placed a coffee cup in front of me, “In the long run you’ll get pretty bored with those.”

I smiled at him, my eyes twinkling with laughter. I didn’t laugh out loud, because I wasn’t sure if he had been serious or not. He sighed, relieved, and his posture shrinking a little. I figured he was happy that I was not sulking or crying. I didn’t want to do either. I wanted to have good time and figure out this thing with him. He walked over to the table and poured some steaming hot coffee into my mug. 

“Thanks,” I replied, “So, where did you g-get these?” I asked then, and looked at the cardboard containers on his kitchen island. He scoffed, scrunched his face and rubbed his chin quickly, before he brushed his hair back from his face.

“What?” I asked, looking up at him.

“From the set…” he admitted, and chewed his cheek.

I blinked few times, and kept staring at him, “Y-You had some poor gopher d-drag these over here for this?” I asked, tilting my head and bobbed my head towards the containers, “I could have m-made something.”

“The fridge is all empty. And what can I say, the food’s good there,” he chuckled. 

“Goof ball,” I shook my head and reached for the milk for the coffee. He laughed out loud and then busied himself with the sorted food items and placed them all on the table. I twirled my spoon in the mug and frowned as I thought how everything had changed from reasonably comfortable into awkwardness that was all too familiar to me. I reached into my pocket to pull out my phone and without him noticing it I began to search for flights from Atlanta to New York. After a minute or so, I stopped and frowned. 

What was I doing? 

I always, always, ran from these situations because I didn’t want to face things. I lowered my phone back on the table and turned to look at Norman who then walked back to the table, and lowered a plate of pancakes down.

“French toast and berries,” he said, sounding proud, like he had made them himself.

“Smells good,” I reply, with a smile as I inhale the scent. I pick up one syrupy French toast from the plate and place it on my own. 

“So, what should we do today?” he asked, sitting down in his seat, looked at me curiously. I noticed him bouncing his foot and tap his fingers against the surface of the table. His eyes were locked onto me, and he was studying me and my reaction.

“I - - I don’t know,” I say shrugging, ducking my head down again, “Did you have something planned already for today?” 

“No,” he shrugged his shoulders, and the bouncing of his foot increased. 

“You want to go out for a s-smoke?” I asked, trying to smile a little. He was having all the symptoms of an anxious smoker ready to light up a whole damn tobacco plant.

He chuckled and bounced up, grabbing the Parliament pack and his lighter from the counter. He turned to face me, and I smiled to him a little, before he offered his hand towards me, “Come on.”

I reached over with a shaky hand, and then felt his hold tightening around my fingers. He pulled me after him to the back porch of his house.

“You don’t have to wait for my p-permission!” I chuckled but I followed him anyways. 

“I know it’s a bad habit,” he said, “But I’ve been at it a shit long of a time,” walking backwards out of the door and gently tugging my hand to make me follow him. 

“I know,” I nodded, and followed him outside.

When I saw the back of the house I had to gasp. The backyard didn’t look so big when I arrived, and now I felt incredibly stupid for not even bothering to look out of the windows after I arrived. The pictures and paintings had distracted me way too much from the exterior of the house. Besides, I had felt too self-conscious to be at his house alone, and I’d feared to explore the place on my own.

But it was. It was big. There was the usual tiled section of the patio, and then there was the pool, with hedges, trees and tall fence giving enough coverage from prying eyes. But beyond the pool and he fence was a large grassy field that ended to a patch of trees. I heard his lighter click and then puffed the cigarette between his lips and then blew the smoke out. I scrunched my nose at the stinging smell but didn’t start to complain. We were out side after all. And no matter which way I put it, when he kissed me with the taste of smoke on his lips - - I complained even less. 

“This is amazing,” I whispered, and took a step towards the stairs, before I remembered I don’t have shoes on. 

“It’s not all mine,” he said shrugging his shoulders, before he followed me to the top of the porch’s stairs.

“The pool is,” I pointed out, “And the grass field?” 

“Eh… there’s this couple living over there and they own horses,” he replied and sounded evasive, “That field is just a buffer between the houses her and their paddocks.”

“A-Are you telling me t-that those stories - -,” I started asking, stared at him while making him squirm nervously. He kept puffing his cigarette and mumbling that he wished he could go back in time and stop Sean from telling those stories.

I bit my bottom lip and blinked again, before I started smiling a little, and then little more. And before I knew it I was giggling and he was staring at me rather upset.

After a moment, and sometime between finishing his first and lighting up his second smoke, I stopped giggling, and stepped closer to him. I reached over and touched his arm a little, “I’m s-sorry. I sh-shouldn’t laugh.”

“Yeah, well, leave it to Sean to embarrass my ass,” he grumbled. 

I shook my head and stepped closer, reaching out and brushing my fingers against his cheek. Tilting my head I just let myself to look at him, as he puffed the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. We were both leaning against the railing of the porch, but I hopped to sit on it, pulling him between my legs, “Mhmmhmm,” I murmured, as a reply and traced his lips, and nose, and jaw and neck with my fingertips for a while. Brushing his hair away from those blue eyes I locked my gaze into them and began twirling his hair around my fingers. 

“It’s getting long,” I whispered, “Your wisps.”

“I know.”

At that I chewed the inside of my bottom lip as he looked at me intently for a long while. His second smoke was slowly coming to an end. 

“Hope they are not making you cut them,” I said softly and made him chuckle out loud. 

“Afraid it’ll ruin our time together, like the first time?” he asked, placing his hands on my hips, as he leaned closer. I knew there was at least 6 foot drop behind me, but I wasn’t afraid of that. I was getting slowly nervous over the man who was standing between my legs, holding onto my waist and looking at me like the Big Bad Wolf ready to devour the Little Red Riding Hood. 

“No,” I shook my head, “It’s not that. I’d miss them,” I whispered and he leaned closer. My stomach lurched and my chest began to ache, while I wiggled my foot, and looked into his eyes.

“I’m sure they’d miss you too, Sweetheart,” he chuckled. 

I draped my arms around his neck, and he snuffed the smoke, and quickly tossing it into the ashtray next to me on the railing. He licked his lips and gently yanked me closer to him. 

This time he didn’t tell me he was going to kiss me, but I didn’t expect him to. When his lips touched mine, I brought my hands to cup his face and tilted my head ever so slightly to my right. He took his time, kissing me so gentle that I almost begged him to put some muscle into it. His mouth lingered teasingly so close to mine between the kisses that it was slowly driving me insane. I heard his breathing growing jagged and his touches changing from gentle and soft into something more demanding. When he crashed his lips against mine hungrily, he pulled me up, off the railing and his hands began roaming up and down my back. I gasped against his mouth, pushing my tongue against his lips and quickly he parted his lips, allowing access. His tongue was quickly probing mine and things were slowly growing more and more heated.

My hands were on his waist when I felt his hands to let go of me and take a step back, allowing us both to breathe. I stumbled backwards, “Oh, God,” I gasped and stared at him.

“What?” his breathing was equally jagged.

“I’ve never been that spontaneous in my life,” I whispered as a reply, brought my hand to my lips and stared at him my eyes wide. My lips were feeling puffy and I swear his beard was already creating whisker burns on my skin. I tasted his lips on mine and blushed. With trembling hands, and making me quite proud of myself, he lit up another smoke and as he puffed it twice and then blew out the smoke, he winked at me, making me smile a little. 

I felt somewhat surprised and shocked that I had once again let my guard down, and the urge of running from the situation grew bigger inside of me. I just wanted to run. But instead, I smiled tight lipped and said, “I know what I want to do.”

“What’s that?”

“I want to go see the horses!” I giggled, elicited a groan from him as a quick response. He grumbled under his breath when I skipped into the house and ran to find my shoes, and his, and when I hurried back to the back door he grumbled like a four-year-old, “I don’t wanna.”

I handed his shoes to him and watched him put them on still grumbling, which made me smile a little more, and then I took his hand and pulled him after me, “Come on, Sour Puss!”

* * *

I dragged a very reluctant Norman to the stables. He sneered at the sight of some horses out at the pasture, making me wish I was better at hiding my amusement. I was slightly apprehensive to go see the horses, despite I wanted to, and maybe even ask if it was possible to ride one. There were probably lots of kids around this neighborhood who were dropping by unannounced to see the horses, and how welcoming the owners actually were, I didn’t know. And neither did Norman. 

He said that he’d been around there once before with someone, and that he hadn’t talked all that much to the owners.

“I just took some pics,” he shrugged, when I asked.

“A-Alright, w-we’ll go to the main house and a-ask them,” I said, and nodded towards the road. He nodded too, slouching after me and kicking some rubble as he walked. He clearly didn’t want to have anything to do with the horses, or the neighbors.

I stopped suddenly and turned to face him, “W-We d-don’t have to go, if you don’t want to,” I said trying to smooth things up, and trying to take most of the blame to myself again.

“We can go. It’s just that… I’ve ridden on camera, I just really, and I mean really, don’t want to get on a horse off camera,” he replied, looking rather uncomfortable. 

“Y-You don’t have to,” I shook my head quickly, “I just - - thought i-it would be something f-fun, active, you know.”

“Come on, let’s go,” he chuckled, taking my hand and turning me around and began pulling me towards the house. 

At the yard we were greeted by a woman who quickly shaded her eyes from the sun when she noticed us coming towards her.

“Hello, can I help you?” she asked, looking at me, and then at Norman.

“I w-was told you ha-have horses here. A-Are they privately owned, o-or is there a possibility to ride w-with them? Considering I’m just s-some girl off the r-road,” I stammered trying to get the words out in an understandable manner.

“Oh, we have local kids coming here and riding all the time, but we prefer that it’s booked before hand and - - oh, my God, you’re Norman Reedus,” the woman started, before realization hit her and she pointed at Norman with a trembling finger.

“Mhmm,” he replied tightlipped, chewing the bottom lip and looked awkward. 

“Don’t m-mind him, h-he doesn’t get along with horses,” I mumbled and smiled a little to the woman, who focused on me but kept stealing glances at Norman. 

“H-How can I make a reservation?” I asked.

The woman shook her head and tried to come up with an answer, “Oh, yeah, um… Well, I suppose there are no reservations at the moment so, you could ride right now.”

I heard Norman shift behind me and I knew what he was thinking, “Don’t change practice over me, he’s not going to ride anyways,” I said hurriedly trying her to give in because I was with someone famous.

“No, seriously, there are no reservations and I’m more than happy to give you a tour,” the woman said, “My name is Anna, Anna Johnson, and my husband and I own this place. We’ve been fans of the Walking Dead since it started, by the way. We’ve seen some of the cast members around here from time to time. It wouldn’t be a change in any routine or practice if you come over now.”

The woman was rather talkative and Norman and I just listened to her babble about the horses.

* * *

Jae yawned next to me while we were watching a movie in the living room. This was the first time I managed to sit down and actually stay seated. The whole day I had been going, because I was finding it hard to relax and unwind. ‘Awkward’ had been today’s word of the day and I had tried not to confront it by doing things all day. After half eaten breakfast she had wanted to visit the neighbor with horses, and I had tried to keep my cool as we got there. She had hugged and scratched and hugged the horses some more, and even fed them with treats that I was certain they shouldn’t be eating.

Once we got back home around 8 pm, I had put on the first season of Three’s Company and we had been watching the first season. I had to confess to her that I’d had the biggest crush on Suzanne Somers while growing up.

She had looked confused and when I had told her about an episode where she had been doused with water and explained something vague about terry cloth, she had tossed some popcorn at me and giggled again and made my legs weak in the knees. She needed to laugh out more. She needed to smile some more, too.

At that point, I wasn’t really even paying attention to the TV or even concentrating to the damn episode, as I was watching her slowly scoot closer to me, and resting her head against the back of my couch, only slightly touching my shoulder. She yawned again, and I went all high school on her and slid my arm around her, and whispered softly, “C’mere.”

She chuckled a little, her head finally against my shoulder and chest, and her hand pressing against my side.

When she made a little content sigh, I couldn’t have been happier about my accomplishment. If both of my hands had been free, I would have rubbed them together.

She straightened her left arm, and stretched it forward, laid it over my shoulders and I felt it rest on my neck, her fingers tangling into my hair. I looked at her from the corner of my eye. She had been toying with the ends of my hair for almost all day.

I supposed that’s how you know someone’s important to her, she touches you. She had issues with hugging and being held onto, but despite of that, she didn’t have any issues with touching others. I looked at her and realized now why she had wanted to prolong that hug. She hadn’t been hugged like that in a long time.

And I had no complains about her touching me. None, what so ever.

With me it seemed to be this thing with my hair.

If I so much as stood near by her, within seconds her hand would found its way up, and rubbing through my hair; patting, rubbing and gently tugging. And jesusfuck if I didn’t feel like a kitten leaning into the caresses. And I felt like a fucking ass because I didn’t think I could live without them anymore.

Like she had made herself irreplaceable by just playing with my hair. Alright, I was pretty sure I couldn’t confess something like that to her at the moment, but when I tried to think about not feeling those fingers tangling into my hair it was almost impossible. 

“Mhmm,” she murmured, against my shoulder, and slowly wiggled her fingers in the back of my neck, tugging my hair gently.

“Wanna go to sleep?” I asked, but she shook her head, and scooted closer. I didn’t dare to move when she settled herself close, and her hand finally slid over my stomach, figuring that we’d probably end up falling asleep on the couch. I turned my focus back to the TV and realized it was the last episode of the first season. Rubbing my thumb over her arm I just let myself to fall asleep.


	15. Kiss Me Good Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't write poems or lyrics for dear old life. I am borrowing the song by Gregory and the Hawk called Boats & Birds.

I woke up groggily on the couch, and instantly had a distinct déjà vu feeling. Only this time, his arms were tightly around me and the second I moved, his hold tightened, like he was unwilling to let go of me. I bit my tongue fast when I felt my insides flip around but the expected panic attack didn’t surge through me like a tidal wave. 

The lack of that familiar and scary feeling quickly forced me to understand something I didn’t even know how to handle it yet. But, instead of trying to force myself free from his hold, I just laid back and turned to look at him. 

His Minor Threat T-shirt was in all kinds of knots, and his hair was disheveled, and sticking up and into the fourth dimension. I smiled a little, and ran my finger over the collar of his shirt, and then up his neck, to tickle his chin, tracing ever so gently over his lips. My heart felt like it was two seconds away from nuclear explosion, and the feeling swallowed me whole.

Oh God, I wanted so badly to tell him how much this meant to me.

He wasn’t pushing or forcing me to do things I knew I couldn’t do, and he wanted to take things slow. I kept running my hand from his slightly parted lips to his forehead, tracing the faint scar he had there, brushing the long hair aside, and gently touching his cheeks, jaw, and then finding my fingers a way up to his right ear that was facing me. I smiled a little, at the little peek-a-boo ear effect his hair was making with his ear, when I brought my index finger to trace the shell of his ear.

I hadn’t sung with him around but I couldn’t stop myself at that point.

_“If you’ll be my star, I’ll be your sky, you can hide underneath me and come out at night,”_ I hummed softly, resting my head against his shoulder, _“When I turn jet black, and you show off your light, I live to let you shine, I live to let you shine.”_

I was now toying with the collar of his T-shirt, and listening to him breathing. 

He shifted slightly, his arm flying over his eyes and he grumbled something in his sleep. He was slowly stirring awake, but still lingered in that state between awake and slumbering, where you feel the soft dream clouds around yourself, and you really don’t want to awake just yet.

 _“But you can skyrocket away from me, and never come back if you find another galaxy, far from here, with more room to fly, just leave me your stardust to remember you by,”_ I kept humming and looking at him stirring. I smiled, leaning closer, and pressing my lips quickly and shy on his and then pulled back. I refused to give myself enough time to over think the thought, or back down from it. I wanted to wake him up as gently as possible.

He grumbled again, his grip tightening almost to an unbearable level and his hand seeking out my face. My chest tightened from that little movement, and it almost felt like my heart just couldn’t take it. 

I think there was certain kind of innocence in my way of looking at him when he finally managed to open his eyes because the second he saw me, his sleepy and rather grumpy expression melted into smile. I smiled back, and blinked few times, at this sleepy face, while he pushed himself up and stretched his arms.

“Mornin’,” he drawled. I remained quiet, as he began rubbing the sleep off his eyes, “What was that about?” he asked.

“The kiss?”

“Nah, the song,” he replied, leaning back down and brushing my hair aside, “You were singing.”

I bit my cheek, and chuckled, “Something that’s been floating in my mind recently,” I replied and shrugged my shoulders, curling against the large couch cushions, tugging one corner under my head. 

“Sounds good,” he said and yawned. My smile widened and I kept my eyes on him. 

“You’ve not sang to me before,” he then said, slightly accusing tone in his voice that lost its effect by a lopsided smirk on his lips. 

“W-Would you l-like me to sing to y-you?” I stammered, when he turned to face me.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked in return, and I shrugged my shoulders, “You l-like so d-different style w-when it comes t-to music,” I replied.

“Doesn’t matter, Sweetheart, you could sing opera for all I care.”

“O-Opera?” I stared at him, blinking few times, “I k-know the lyrics t-to _Largo al factotum della citta_ , but it always c-comes out like B-Bugs Bunny is s-singing it,” I said and made him laugh.

“No opera, then?” he asked turning to look at me rather mischievously, and I nodded in agreement.

“But I’d love to hear you sing,” he said, idly stroking the back of my hand that was casually resting over his stomach.

“Mmhm,” I mumbled and curled against his shoulder again. I still couldn’t believe we just woke up and he was holding onto me so tightly that in any normal situation would have triggered a panic attack bad enough for me to actually need some tranquilizers. And yet, at this very moment, being I felt nothing but happiness at that. No panic, no fear, no gnawing feeling that something was wrong; instead only happiness and the feeling of love. I knew I couldn’t force myself to say it out loud, not just yet, but I already knew that I was utterly and hopelessly fallen in love with him. 

I was actually feeling content and so happy, that I sniffled a little, and quickly bit my bottom lip into my mouth. The feeling was overwhelming, so much so, that it made me feel guilty, that somehow this was wrong, and that I didn’t deserve it. 

“What is it?” Norman’s voice quickly asked, his eyes locked onto me. He’d heard my sniffle. I didn’t know what to say, because I didn’t want to agitate him, or ruin the otherwise perfect morning with my own insecurities, my fears, my panic; all of which were now rushing back over me the minute I had let down my guard. I quickly shook my head, and pretended to yawn.

“Good morning, is all,” I mumbled, and brushed my eyes as well, but not to evacuate sleep from them, but to make sure I wasn’t going to start crying. I had to roll onto my back, away from him in order to make sure he didn’t see my eyes. 

“We slept on the couch,” he stated the obvious, “Again.”

“Y-Yeah,” I nodded and looked at the large grey couch.

We had enough space to sleep there on our own respective ends of the couch, but instead we were curled up in a ball together like cats seeking warmth from each other. He sat up, and stretched his back. I heard him groan out loud, when there was a cracking sound. I sat up quickly, too, and looked up at him, concerned that his back was feeling all kinds of sore from sleeping on the couch. 

As if he had seen the question burning behind my eyes, he shook his head, sighing, “Yeah, not a very good place to sleep, when you got a perfectly good bed upstairs,” he chuckled, “But I had the best company.”

“Stop,” I said, and smirked, giving him a little shove.

“What? At least you were sleeping with me and not in some shitty guest bedroom,” he said, and stretched his arms a little more. I heard a joint pop and crack and he let out a relieved sight. I blushed and refused to look at him, when I stood up, and instead I busied myself straightening my shirt, and pants; and watching him do the same. 

I already had thought about it; what would we do tonight? We couldn’t very well fall asleep on the couch every single night. I wasn’t even sure how long I could expect to have a welcome in his house. I looked at his back and wanted to ask about it but of course I didn’t want to step over any boundaries.

At that point, we were done straightening our appearances, he was twiddling his fingers, and shifting nervously, clearly ready to start his morning routine with the first smoke of the day, so I tapped his arm gently, and as our eyes met, I just nodded towards the patio door. Gratefully he almost ran to and opened it, already tapping a cigarette out of the pack. I smiled, and started my way at the kitchen, but then I remembered something we had discussed a good 24 hours earlier.

So, instead of coffee making, I slouched to the patio door, and peeked outside. It was another nice and sunny morning. The house was cool due to the AC. I normally enjoyed the coolness, but the sun and warmth outside was seducing and inviting me to step outside. I leaned against the doorframe as he flicked his lighter, and then lit up the smoke, taking the first long drag off of it. He blew the smoke out, resting his elbows against the banister, and hanging his head down for a moment. 

It made me bite my cheek and my skin crawl realizing how much that affected me, without actually wanting to admit how hot he looked. I kept my mouth shut, and just drank in all that was his appearance.

I realized quickly what I was doing, and my bottom lip began quivering and my eyes began welling with tears, my heart beat began racing, and the feeling of me loosing control yet again loomed over me when my breathing took to a turn to becoming jagged. I bent my head, took a deep breath and counted down from twenty, before I even glanced outside. I didn’t want to start crying, I flinched when I realized it was pointless anyways. I didn’t even know why this made me so sensitive.

No, that wasn’t true. I knew; it was the myriad of feelings that almost all of them were something I had tried to guard myself from and now that he had snaked his way inside the wall of mine, I couldn’t help but feel the worst of them all: love. 

He kept puffing out smoke, while he leaned against the banister, his back towards me. I remained silent even when he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He shifted, resting his foot against the other, as he quickly searched a number and brought the silvery phone to his ear. 

“Hey, Buddy,” he said softly, and lovingly when, I assumed, he was answered after a short while. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” he chuckled, “Little sleepy, though.”

I crossed my arms to my chest and smiled. I figured he was talking to his son, and I didn’t want to interrupt him. 

“Nah, Buddy, just made a mistake by falling asleep on the couch,” he said then, making me quickly frown. He blew out a smoke ring and the made a sound as if he was choking, followed by a long cough, “Mingus, I’m warning you. You better watch what you’re saying! We were both tired, and fell asleep on the couch!”

A silence from his part again, and I was feeling horrible by eavesdropping him on the phone with his son, but the conversation peeked my interest and besides, they were talking about me.

“I’m gonna ground you for life, if you keep talking like that,” he groaned, “Well, doesn’t matter if I talk like that! You’re not supposed to - - Ming, we - - we are taking it slow, Buddy. I’m not going to - - Jesus, I can’t believe I’m talking about this with my son…” he stammered, tried to find a right way to handle it and then hung his head down in defeat. 

At that point, I decided to cough and make my presence known.

He jumped, turned around and smiled at me nervously. I lifted my hand to my mouth and strained not to giggle out loud at the guilty look he had on his face. He knew he was busted.

“Yeah, Buddy,” he said then, “The minute your mom says it’s alright. I can’t wait to see you both.”

I stepped onto the porch and padded my way to a group of chairs and a table on the right. I sat down and brought my feet up on the seat, wrapping my arms around my knees. I glanced over at him, as he was clearly slowly ending the conversation with his son. Realizing how I had not even thought about him having a kid, I felt awfully foolish thinking about that now.

“Okay, bye, Buddy!” he said then as he walked over to me. I looked up at him, looking sheepish and hoped that he wouldn’t ask how much I had heard. Luckily, he didn’t. He leaned against the banister, crossing his arms to his chest, flicking the lighter on his right hand. 

“Uh, so… Ming,” he said, “It’s a part of our morning routine.”

“You don’t h-have to make excuses,” I said, quickly shaking my head, “He’s y-your s-son.”

As a reply he turned to stare at the floor boards of the porch. The sun was slowly starting to shine onto it, and it was warming nicely my toes, that I wiggled over the edge of the chair. 

“I - - I didn’t mean falling asleep on the couch with you was a mistake,” he said then, “I just meant - - not the best of places to sleep on.”

I smiled, “I understood.”

“He’s pretty anxious to meet you, you know,” Norman said then. 

My head shot up and my mouth gaped open for a moment. I thought that I might have looked like a fish on dry land at that moment. 

Suddenly he was in front of me, kneeling down. He looked up, into my eyes, and untangled my arms from my knees, gesturing for me to lower my feet back on the floor. I did as he wanted me to, and he crawled between my legs, his arms wrapping around my torso. He pressed his face fast against my chest and hugged me tightly. I looked down at him, running my fingers slowly through his hair, hearing him sigh.

“You miss him,” I whispered, as I kept petting his hair, twirling the wisps gently around my fingers.

“Yeah, I miss him,” he said and I felt him tremble a little. 

“I’m… I’m s-sorry,” I whispered, and leaned down pressing a gentle kiss on top of his head, “Y-You should have asked him to come here this w-week, instead of m-me.”

He shook his head, looking up at me and licking his lips. I saw how he quickly glanced at my lips, and it made me smile and feel conscious how much I wanted what he was clearly thinking.

“He’s got to see his mom too,” he chuckled, “And I’m just glad I’m not alone here.”

“You’re n-not,” I murmured. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, while my fingers still played in his hair. A feeling, or an idea, I couldn’t tell which one was it, was slowly dawning on me. He needed me right now. He didn’t want to be alone. And truth to be told, I needed this as much as him. I didn’t want to be alone either. Aching feeling returned into my fingers, when I twirled a section around my pinky finger and tugged gently.

“Do that again,” he said, leaning into the caresses, and I opened my eyes to look down at him. His eyes were closed, resting his head against my arm, “D-Do what?”

“You don’t even notice it, do you?” he smirked, getting up on his knees and bringing his hands down onto my waist, and then in slow motion moving them up my sides, “You don’t even notice that you’re playing with my hair and that I love it?”

“I - - uh - - What?” I stammered.

“Mhmm,” he nodded, pressing his lips into a tight line, “I don’t know how you do it, but I don’t want you to stop, Sweetheart,” adding then.

“You’re b-being t-too m-much right n-now,” I whispered in between gasps. Now, the panic attack was making its way back into my life with gusto. He stood up, saying nothing, but offering his hand to me. I took it despite feeling considerable amount of trepidation.

* * *

The second the patio door closed behind us, he began kissing me with such a force that I melted into him eagerly. He moved to kiss my neck, and murmured against my skin that he didn’t want me to be afraid. I wasn’t sure to whom or to what he was referring to but I couldn’t have agreed more. I didn’t want to be afraid.

“I’m not good with this,” I answered to him, when he took a hold of my waist and walked me backwards towards the kitchen. He shook his head, and slanted his mouth over mine again. I held onto him like I was drowning into that kiss. It was different kind of a kiss, and I knew where it was leading to, but I wasn’t ready for that just yet. We reached the kitchen, his lips never leaving mine, and his hands trailed, for the first time, underneath my shirt and a gasp hitched into my throat when I his fingers found bare skin. I dug my hands into his hair and tugged rather roughly, when he pressed against me against a countertop. 

“You said the fridge was empty, right?” I asked when he stopped showering kisses on my lips. He licked yet again his lips, and I felt that mine were swollen. I needed a distraction from this rollercoaster of emotions, and I definitely needed to get out of the house.

Not because I didn’t want to be alone with him, but because I needed to vent myself a little. I just needed a break. 

This morning there was definitely no one bringing food from the set. And because we had spent most of yesterday either just walking around, me riding, and hugging horses and him taking pictures, the fridge was still all empty. That was a reason enough to head out, to the town. 

“There’s a nice bakery not far from here,” he said.

“There’s a-also a g-grocery store in town, I’m s-sure of it,” I replied seriously.

“Where’re you getting at?”

“How about i-if I just make us something to e-eat, after we go shopping?” I asked, and picked up a pen and a paper that he had on the counter top in kitchen, quickly trying to come up with something I could make us to eat without too much fuss. 

He frowned, sitting down on the barstool next to the kitchen island and rested his chin against his palm.

“Y-You d-don’t like the i-idea,” I stated.

He shrugged his shoulders, looking intently at me. 

“I’m not sure I wanna share you with the world yet,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he eyed at me.

“I d-don’t understand.”

“The minute we go out, there’s going to be all these people - - and with my luck Andy and Steven and Lauren and Melissa and oh, God, Michael, and the whole fucking crew will just pop around the corner and all of them are gonna be - -“ he went on, making an explosive gesture with his hands, “- - and they’re going to be asking stupid questions and hogging you all to themselves and I’m just going to stand there like a fucking baboon without a banana,” he finished. 

“Like the lamp?” I asked, trying not to make fun of him. 

“Yeah, just like that lamp!” he chuckled. 

“N-Norman, unless you’re planning on t-taking us at the set t-to eat - -,” I started, reaching to touch his cheek, “I have no r-reason to be around w-with anyone but you.” 

He pouted at me, but said nothing. 

“We need to eat,” I said, smiling at him, trying to persuade him to see my point.

“Coffee first?” he asked in defeat, resting his palms against the counter, around my waist, and placed his forehead against my shoulder. 

“Coffee first,” I nodded.

I actually enjoyed him being close to me, so I rubbed my cheek against his head and he sighed. When he didn’t move I started to fret a little, and thinking that I was being rude for wanting to go grocery shopping. Maybe it was too much too soon.

“W-We c-can go to t-the bakery if you w-want,” I breathed out softly. 

“Nah, Sweetheart,” he said then, kissing my bare shoulder, “You’re right. I just… don’t want to give up our time together.”

I nodded. I didn’t want to do that either. The coffee maker gurgled next to us and he turned to look at it. I took that chance to shift and turned around looking up at the cupboards frowning a little when I tried to decide which one to open first in order to find us some mugs. He chuckled a little, and I felt him pressing against my back, as he stretched his arm up opening one of the doors revealing few mugs on the shelf. 

I took two mugs down and held them in my hands, when he reached for the coffee pot, pouring the hot liquid in both of the mugs, “No milk,” he said, “Is coffee black fine with you?” 

I handed the other mug to him, and nodded.


	16. Now What?

We got out of the house after our rather poorly planned breakfast. It was one of those exceptionally hot days in the South, and there were no clouds in the sky, and the air just seemed to vibrate with the heat that was bombarding us from up and below at the same time. I decided to wear a dark grey skirt that hung snuggly around my hips, and fell down to my knees. I decided to put on an airy, white blouse that had long sleeves, which I rolled up to my elbows rather messily. I left few buttons undone and tied the hem into a loose knot in the front. 

It was way too hot to put on boots, so I decided that I could go barefooted for now and bring my sandals along. He was already outside by the front door, lighting a cigarette when I got outside, and I saw his expression change almost immediately. He forgot quite definitely that he had a cigarette hanging from his lips when I walked past him and skipped the few steps down and hurried over to the front lawn. I padded around the front yard, dangling my sunglasses and sandals on my hand and enjoying the feel of the coolness of the grass against my bare feet. 

I drew in a deep breath, once, twice, three and four times. Even though the heat of the air was almost touchable and it was the reason for sweat beads forming quickly on the skin, the air was definitely clearer than it was in New York. And as much as I loved New York, this place was so different that it almost hurt to think of the contrast.

He kept his eyes on me, I could feel them as I stood there, wiggling my toes and letting the grass tickle them. I looked at him still standing on the front porch and puffing that cigarette, eyeing me like I was some appetizer he wanted to devour right there. Then I saw him glance at his bike rather longingly, but it would have been foolish to take the bike for a shopping trip.

I sat down on the grass, and placed my palms behind me, tilting slightly backwards. My hair fell down to my back, and the sun warmed my skin making me smile. I was probably as pale as a polar bear in the dead of winter, and I knew I was really the only one to blame at that. I rarely went out or sat in the sun long enough to catch any tan on my skin, and when I did that, I always remembered my roommate for a short period of time from one of my lengthy hospital stays, who had died of melanoma. 

I jolted upwards again for a second I wanted to scurry my way underneath the big tree and its shade, but instead I crossed my legs and looked up at the sky, refusing something like that to ruin a perfectly good day.

Then, I heard the familiar ‘click’ from the camera of his phone. He’d taken yet another picture of me. I heard the grass rustling behind me, and there was a brief shadow passing over me, as Norman walked over, wearing that lopsided grin of his, and chuckling to himself as he eyed at the picture on the screen of his phone. 

“Much better in real life,” he shrugged his shoulders, and shut down the screen, crouching down, and touched my cheek softly with the back of his hand. I opened my eyes and looked at him smiling. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been this calm and this happy. I knew there were times like this when I was little, but this was different kind of feeling at that.

“T-Thank you,” I whispered, and stuck my tongue out a bit, making a face at him. He arched his eyebrow at me playfully. I looked quickly at his hands, and noticed he was done with the smoke, and when he offered his hand to me, I took it and let him pull me up from the ground. I almost felt disappointed that we had to leave the house to go grocery shopping but I had been the one insisting on it! 

“Ready to go, Sweetheart?” he asked gently and I nodded. He helped me up, biting his lip and looking nervous, but when I frowned and tilted my head in a quizzical manner, he shook his and brushed the nervousness over like it was nothing.

“C’mon,” he said then, and we walked to his truck.

* * *

For awhile, the drive was silent. I didn’t know if it was because I didn’t now what say or what to do, or was it just something different completely. I curled into the seat of his truck, twiddling my fingers and picking my nails. There was a scuff, a tiny one at that, on the cuticle of my index finger which slowly became something I kept scratching more and more until it began bleeding. I watched the blood spread all around my fingernail before I stuck the finger in my mouth. I tasted the iron tang of the blood on my tongue and sighed.

Both of our windows were rolled down and I rested my arms against the frame. The wind tousled my hair, and the sunlight played on my face through the branches of the trees that framed the road. 

Norman was quiet, quieter than I would have thought him to be. Somehow it felt like things had flipped upside down, again. The reasons were many. It might have been me asking to go to a grocery store instead of the bakery, it could have been the cold and ugly truth that he didn’t want to go grocery shopping with me like we were a couple, or that we both were feeling hungry since all we’d had this morning was coffee. 

I turned to look at him, still suckling my finger, and trying to stop the bleeding. He wore his sunglasses, and kept drumming his fingers against the steering wheel nervously. 

I brought a knee up on the seat, and snaked my right foot under my left knee, and rested my elbow against the window frame. When I leaned my head against my arm, I could see his profile that was tense and apprehensive at the same time. 

My question to change our destination to the bakery instead had only received a haphazardly mumbled reply, and it sounded a lot like he didn’t want to speak to me, but instead of agreeing or disagreeing with me, he drove past a bakery and a coffee shop and a gas station as we headed to the town. I rubbed my chin against my right shoulder, extending my right arm out of the window and wiggling and shifting my fingers as I let the breeze to affect to the movement of my arm. I kept my eyes tightly on the scenery and on the movements of my hand. I wished I’d have the courage to ask him what was going on, but I knew I couldn’t do that.

Again I felt distant from his world, and also something kept reminding me that I might have already outlived my welcome in his house. I couldn’t do anything about that now, because I had left my cell phone at his place, and all my stuff was back in his guest bedroom. Maybe, when we got back, I could tell him that I was sorry for his troubles, and that I was leaving. A little nagging voice inside me seemed to laugh when I distinctly remembered how I didn’t deserve something like this. I didn’t deserve happiness. 

Norman leaned his elbow on the open window and chewed heavily on his thumb’s finger nail.

I sniffled before I could stop myself from doing that and heard him quickly snap his head towards me. I felt the car slow down and when I lifted my head to look up at him, he was staring at me.

“You okay?”

“Y-Yes,” I lied, “I’m sorry though.”

“What for?”

“I shouldn’t h-have p-pushed - -,” I began, pointing towards at the road, meaning to tell him that I was just fine if he wanted to go to the nearest gas station and buy two week old stale bread for us to eat. 

He shook his head and when he brought his hand back down to the steering wheel, I saw how he had chewed the finger nail on his thumb, “I’m just - - there’s going to be people, who’ll be nosy and curious and they’ll take pictures,” he sighed, “I don’t know what to say or do if they start asking things about you. And I know they will.”

I tilted my head and I quickly realized that he obviously wanted to protect me from what ever we were going to be up against soon enough when someone would realize that there was something between us. I alone wouldn’t be recognized, but the man driving - - he was far too popular and far too well known for people not to recognized him at some point.

“I love my fans, I owe them a lot! I would probably have been killed off that second season, if it wasn’t for them, but when it comes to something I want to keep all to myself, I don’t want to give it all away because they are asking questions. I shouldn’t have to.”

“O-Oh,” I mumbled, “I - - I can wait in the c-car,” I offered, and made him scoff out loud. He shook his head quickly and reached to take my hand, squeezed it reassuringly.

“I can’t - - I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Then, w-what do y-you want to - - d-do?” 

“Wrap you up in a sheet, carry you into the bedroom and never let you out of my bed?” he said, with a mischievous grin on his face. I blushed. It was the first time he so openly referred the two of us in the same bed. 

“B-Be serious,” I said, looking at him with a slight smile and surprising myself how much love and emotions I could put into those two words. I figured he noticed it too, because he swallowed and then chuckled nervously.

“So, are you my girlfriend?” he asked winking his eye at me. 

“W-We haven’t r-really talked about it,” I said, turning to sit sideways in the front seat, and idly tugging the hem of his black T shirt. He glanced down at my hands, but kept quiet. I wanted and needed more than just a filler of a discussion in the car to confirm that this was something other than just some good time fun.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asked, quietly, almost dreading for my answer.

I lifted my eyes to look at him. He didn’t have hesitation in his eyes; neither did he have deceit in them. I doubted that he knew how to hide either of those emotions if he had such thoughts in his mind. But I was still cautious, because I didn’t want to get hurt. 

He kept shifting his gaze between me and the road, as he still kept driving.

“I d-don’t know, really,” I whispered.

“You’re afraid I’ll bail on you?”

“That, too,” I nodded, “And that you’re j-just o-out for the f-fun of it.”

I reached out to touch his cheek and he quickly shot a gaze back at me, decelerating the vehicle to avoid from driving off the road. I let my hand slide to the back of his neck, keeping my eyes on his baby blue eyes, as the car came to a complete stop at the side of the road.

“Yes,” I whispered into his ear. 

When I brushed my hand over his hair, running my fingers over the back of his neck, I felt him tense up, and as I leaned over, to kiss his cheek, he relaxed pulling me quickly closer, “J-Just d-don’t hurt me, N-Norman,” I whispered my one and only condition in this relationship. 

“Never,” he stammered, stunned for a moment.

* * *

“Milk,” I said and placed the jug into the cart, and looked down at the list I had made hastily before leaving. Norman leaned against the push bar, and looked like he definitely didn’t want to be anywhere near that store. He acted apprehensive and sullen, and even as we walked down the aisles, he remained silent and pouty under his Ray-Ban’s and very simple version of his trucker caps. 

I chewed my lip, until it began to tingle and I had to stop. Every time anyone passed us, he ducked his head, and glared down into the cart. Reaching out for a carton of my favorite orange juice, I couldn’t help but think it would have been rather funny if I didn’t feel guilty by each passing second, as I had been the one to come up with this idea. He kept toying with his phone, and barely paid any attention to me, while following me. I shuffled from side to side of the aisle we were currently on, and picked up stuff and laid them in the cart. 

He grumbled and rolled his eyes and I again started to think him as a grumpy old man, which made it quickly funny again. I skipped ahead about two aisles, into the fresh food section and picked up some produce, sweet potatoes, carrots, broccoli and paprika. He followed me slow and on the look out for a sudden stampede of fans. I placed the vegetables into the cart and touched his shoulder gently, “I’m g-going to start c-calling you G-Gloomy Gus if you d-don’t stop frowning,” I whispered and marched past him. He sighed, defeated, his shoulders slumped and he turned the cart around, and followed me again. He was definitely not in the mood for grocery shopping or talking to people fans or not. 

He grumbled again something under his breath, and stopped next to me, as I began to eye which one of pre-packed chicken breasts I’d take. 

I looked over at him. He might have been an actor, but I could easily read him like an open book. He had that look on his face that just made me want to hug him. I think it would have helped with his mood, but I refrained from doing that, because I knew if someone recognized him and saw him hugging me in a more familiar manner than just hugging a fan it would be bad and his mood would be foul for the rest of the day. 

I picked up one package and placed it into cart and frowned when I tried to think what we’d need next. At that point there was a lump forming into my throat, and I swallowed hard. I started to feel even guiltier over the fact that I had pushed for this. I had pushed the boundaries just a little too far by asking this. There was suddenly that awful, familiar feeling, when my head filled with dizziness and my breathing grew to more erratic. 

“Jae?” I heard him, Norman, call after me, but his voice came from like underwater. I couldn’t focus on him, even though I saw through the white blur a dark figure approaching me quickly. 

“Jae, what is it?” he asked, and tried to take a hold of my hand. I jumped, flinched away from his touch, and tried to push him further. 

“N-Nothing,” I stammered, “No, don’t. Don’t touch me! Get away from me!” I hissed, as a reaction to his touch, I couldn’t help myself. I shrug his hand off and made my way around the shopping cart. I felt like the walls of the store were closing in on me, and all the shelves suddenly grew 60 feet tall, leaning over me, dropping items of canned food and packages on top of me. I shook my head and tried very hard to focus, and clear my head. I staggered my way by the shelves full of cookies, and reached over to pick up a box with some chocolatey goodness, when I realized there was nothing I could do anymore. My head began feeling dizzy, and I dropped the cookie box on the floor, following it as I crashed there on my hands and knees.

“Jae? Jae, honey, look at me,” Norman called, before my chest tightened, and the darkness took over.

* * *

My skin shrank against my bones. I could feel myself shrinking and floating up in some dark, cold space. 

* * *

When we arrived back at the house, I excused myself and hurried upstairs into the guest bedroom.

I sat on the bed, and reached for my backpack. The ache had returned into my chest and I wanted to run. I opened the bag, and leered at the clothes inside. My mind was going in circles. Part of me wanted to pack my stuff and leave, the other half wanted to figure this out and stop running away from difficulties. 

I couldn’t do this. It was too hard, and it was too much too fast. 

I had wanted to hide that part of my life, the possibility of having a panic attack out of the blue, but it seemed that there was no chance at that. This morning, the drive to the store, the realization and recognition that we were, or we could have been, a couple - - all that and much more was the reason for me to pass out like that. It wasn’t about having someone in my life; it was about being bound into something I wasn’t sure I wanted to experience. But I wanted this so much, I wanted him so much that it hurt, and yet I wasn’t sure if I could ever allow it to happen. 

I sat there in silence for a good long while, feeling tears rolling down my cheek slowly. I stared out of the window and tried to make myself calm down. We had just had a wonderful morning and then I go and have a mental meltdown! How fair was that? I was partly embarrassed, and partly horrified. 

There was a light knock at the door. I didn’t turn to see, because there was no one else who it could have been. He opened the door with a creak, and then peeked through.

“Jae? Can I come in?”

I didn’t say anything, just turned to look through the window right to the bed, and wiped my cheeks.

“Y-Yes,” I whispered. 

He entered the room, and walked over to the bed with hands tucked in his jeans’ pockets. I still refused to look at him, when he sat down next to me on the bed, his hand pressing against my back as the mattress lurched a little from his weight. 

“Are you alright?” he asked tentatively. I simply just nodded as a reply. He then extended his left hand in front of me holding a glass of water, which I took almost painfully glad. I took a long gulp of water and placed the glass on the night stand before I wiped my lips to the back of my hand and turned to look at him. There was worry framing his face and fear glistening in his blue eyes. 

“I was just - -,” he started, but I interrupted him quickly, by bringing my own left hand onto his lips. I shook my head a little, hoping he’d get it and would speak anything. I wasn’t going to be able to speak. I frowned, still fighting the tears, but inevitably lost to them. Thankfully he said nothing, and just wrapped his arms around me, rocking me to and fro until I wasn’t crying and sobbing anymore.

As much as he needed me, I need him too, I thought. 

I wasn’t sure how long we had stayed like that but when I sat up and looked at him, he looked rather sleepy. It was still bright outside, only the sunlight had turned towards the sunset orange and red shades mixed with the blue hues of the sky. I looked into his eyes, stroking his arm slowly, and fingertips ghosting over his skin. He still cradled me in his arms, even though I could feel how tense he was.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered for what was like a thousandth time, “I’m so sorry.”

“You told me to get away from you,” he said, voice plain, but sad.

“It happens s-sometimes, when t-the panic takes o-over,” I explained, “I didn’t mean it that way. I was told that somehow I’m reliving the moments when I was tied down on that hospital b-bed,” I stuttered, trying to form this into an understandable explanation. 

He seemed to be confused, and lightly upset too. He looked out of the window as well, and I felt my throat tighten painfully. The only reason he was staring out of the window was just so he wouldn’t have to look at me. I took a deep breath, and hoped that the conversation in the car and the events at the store weren’t too much for him.

“Do you want me to - - you know, to g-go?” he asked, and tilted his head ever so slightly to look at me. There was a look of something akin to fear on his face. I felt two plump tears falling down my cheeks, when I quickly shook my head as an emphatic reply, “N-No,” I whispered, and squeezed his forearm lightly. The relief shook his whole body, and he relaxed visibly, “N-Norman, I love you,” I said softly, my eyes still glued to his.


	17. Tangled Sheets

He stared at me for a good long while, his eyes wide as plates in any decent Italian pizzeria, and held my hands in his. I kept looking at him, although I was slowly growing impatient and slightly afraid that he - - he wasn’t in for the big confessions. I felt how my bottom lip began trembling. I chewed quickly the inside of my cheek, and swallowed the lump that formed in my throat yet again. My skin began prickling like when you know you’re having a frost bite on your nose but you still want to keep playing outside, and your mother just calls you back in anyways.

I tried to pull my hands away, but the grip of his palms around mine tightened when I so much as twitched a little. He ducked his head down, his shoulders slumped. I felt his hands quickly starting to tremble as bad as my own.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped.

I flinched to his exclamation and tried to pull my hands away from his again, but he wouldn’t have any of it. I tried to play along with this strange mood of his now, but I knew that I was treading treacherous waters if he wanted nothing of the sorts. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out loud, lifted his head up, looking at me. I blinked few times while I tried so hard to figure out what did he mean by that. All of this was making me feel uncomfortable and confused.

“I’m such an ass, Jae,” he sighed, “I - - I shouldn’t have - -,” he stuttered struggling to find the right words.

“Lead me on?” I offered weakly.

He shook his head vigorously. He bit his bottom lip, reaching up, and cupped my cheek with his right palm, that felt so soft and warm against my skin.

“I’m… I’m not really good with this, so just - - I should have been the first one to say that,” he groaned, lifting his head up again, and smiled broadly, and not the normal tight lipped smile, but open, bright and absolutely gorgeous.

“W-What?”

He stood up, yanking me up with him, and then wrapped his arms around my waist, burying his face into my neck and just cradling me there for a long, soothing while. Trying to recover from this unpredictable mood swing, my own arms slithered slowly over his sides, under his arms, and up to his back, palms pressing tightly against his shoulder blades. I squeezed him closer to me, just to feel the pressure of his hug and closeness better.

I had barely recovered from the sudden hug, when he chuckled out loud. Quickly grabbing me by my waist, he lifted me up and spun me around eliciting a loud shriek from me. He looked up at the same time as I looked down, and I didn’t even know why but I smiled.

“I love you, too,” he murmured, smiling, and made my chest tighten and ache. My palms rested on his shoulders for the entire time he kept me up in the air, spinning me around. Before long, he lowered me down – slightly out of breath, mind you – and then he kissed me. 

For a while it was just that – a kiss.

Then, it became something else; I felt his hands travelling up and down my sides very slowly. They crept up, and I felt myself trembling under his touch, thinking that only an inch more and he’d be touching my boobs.

He didn’t, though.

His fingers travelled up to my neck, his thumb stroked the sensitive skin of my neck, and over my collar bones. It certainly was titillating, but it was confusing the hell out of me. 

I wanted and yet I didn’t want it. The way he didn’t feel me up like all the others that had ever tried something on me or with me, felt odd.

He nuzzled his nose against mine, nipping my lips, chuckling a little at my tiny gasps, and exhilarated breathing. I kept my hands on his shoulders, unable to move until I knew for sure that this was going to lead into sex. 

But the air was definitely charged with sex, it was positively sparkling with it. 

I slid my hand to the back of his neck, and rested my forehead against his, while he hooked his thumbs on either side of the waistband of my skirt, and slowly, so very slowly dragged his thumbs across the skin of my stomach, until they touched in front, just below my belly button. My stomach flipped, and my back arched from a feeling that I hadn’t had in ages.

Oh, God!

He didn’t put his hands any farther down, under the waistband of the skirt, but there was absolutely no question now of what he wanted. He tilted his head down, kissing along my jaw, and back toward my ear, making me clutch onto him even more tightly, tugging his hair on the back of his neck.

But I should have been more careful of what I wished for. I should have known that this wouldn’t be so simple, not when it came to me. The claustrophobic feeling crept up on me at the same time as I opened and grew hotter for Norman. It was the best and the worst feeling at the same time, and it was going to tear me apart. I couldn’t stand it much longer.

God, I wished I didn’t feel this way. I wished that I was a different person, just someone else, someone normal, was what I thought at that moment.

He took a step, toward the bed, turning me to the direction he was moving to, and just as the backs of my shins hit the edge of the bed, he scooped me up again, never once breaking the contact of our lips, or backing his tongue away from mine. I wrapped my legs around his hips, as he pulled me into a full-body embrace. 

As much as he needed me I needed him.

No, he wanted me.

I could tell from the way his hands grasped my hair, trembled on the back of my neck, the way his breathing hitched into his throat, the way he kissed me with complete charge. Slowly. Thoroughly. Styled for my pleasure.

When we pulled back to breathe, he had lowered me on the guest bed and was now resting half on top of me, exasperated searching for my eyes of any sign that I didn’t want him to move forward with this. There wasn’t any. He rested most of his body weight on his forearms that were on each side of me, before he shifted and kneeled between my legs. His hand ran over my stomach, making me whimper out loud, before he reached the knot on my blouse and began untying it. My own eyes were fixated on his face; I couldn’t stop looking at him. His brow furrowed for a moment when the knot was feeling slightly stubborn and he thought it wouldn’t open without using some kind of a tool, but when it loosened the expression melted away and was replaced by curiosity. Opening the two buttons, he then exposed my skin to the cool air of the house and my bra du jour to his scrutiny. Blushing heavily when I thought how innocent my bra must have been when compared to the lieu of his other women he’d had in his life.

I wore just plain white bra with lace trimming. I thought most of the women trying to get between his sheets wore something more alluring like black lace, or more expensive and sexier bra. I turned my head to the side and didn’t want to look at him. I swear there was almost an electric shock coursing through me when he just slid his fingers across my stomach, and traced the sensitive skin under my breasts with his knuckles, running his index finger over the elastic of my bra. With that I dared to look up at him again. His eyes were now dark with lust, but still so tender that I was almost ready to believe that he liked what he saw. 

Leaning over me, I felt his body weight slowly increasing on top of me, as he kissed me once more. I opened my mouth, allowing him to kiss me as deeply as he wanted, and his tongue slithered quickly to do magical things with my own. His hands were wandering down my sides, finding the waistband of my skirt. I let them wander where they would. I nearly giggled out loud when he began to shimmy my skirt off, hiking up my hips and then tugging the skirt down with one quick stroke. 

It was all so good, until there was a flash of heat, bursting inside of me. Too hot. 

My chest pounded like I was having a heart attack, and red warning lights flashed behind my eyelids. Without me even noticing his hand had take a hold of my wrist.

I pushed him away, and yet held onto him at the same time to keep him from getting the wrong message. I wanted this, I just had to remind him that he couldn’t hold onto my wrists.

Dazed, just as I suspected, he looked down at me, panting. He couldn’t catch his breath, “W-What is it?” he whispered.

“Not my wrists,” I breathed, “Anything but my wrists.”

He looked up, my hand pinned against the bed by his and he quickly let go, mumbling ‘sorry’ underneath his breath. He practically expected me to stop him now. But as he sought my gaze into his, I nodded, bringing my hands around his shoulders, pulling him closer and kissing him as a confirmation to continue. 

He groaned and my skirt flew on the floor. With a hot palm on each of my thighs, he leaned forward again until our foreheads touched. He brushed his lips up my cheek, toward my ear. Here was something more of what I had expected from Norman. Tortured self-control. I, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have nearly as much self-control as he did. I leaned in and kissed him hard. 

We played this game for the next hour and a half. He would take over and kiss me carefully, with attention to detail, like I was one of his artwork. It was the slowest, most thorough, most agonizing, best make-out session imaginable. 

There was also a certain amount of fascinated experimentation on my part. He seemed to be a man who knew everything there was to know about sex. He had that certain air to himself. I had been afraid to let this go on this far, because I knew I wasn’t nearly as experienced as he was. He was a normal boy after all. Well, an unusually well-built, all grown up boy, granted, but still a boy who reacted in predictable ways. 

When I whispered in his ear, he shivered. When I touched him, he gripped me harder. 

He wanted me – me, of all the people.

I proceeded to pull off his shirt, and open his belt and jeans, pushing them down, and letting him kick the nuisance of clothing off of himself. When I lifted my upper body off the bed, he shed my blouse and bra briskly. His boxers were the next to get lost and when his beautiful naked body pressed down on me, I realized I could have happily spent a whole week in foreplay with him. 

I watched him settle himself between my parted thighs. His hand slid over my left thigh, tickling the skin, and bending the leg at the knee. My own hand gripped his hip, and other hand tangled into his hair yet again. My back arched, when I felt him pushing against me, kissing my neck, tongue hot against equally hot skin of mine. 

* * *

I woke up when it was already dark outside. I wiped my eyes and looked around myself. The guest bedroom was empty, and dark, only light was streaming through the slightly ajar door. I sat up, gathered the sheet that was entangled onto me, and wrapped it around myself like a toga, before I stood up and padded carefully to the door. The hallway light downstairs was on and I descended the stairs slowly. When I reached the voyeur I looked around myself again, and wondered where Norman had gone to.

The whole house looked so much different in that barely lit lighting than it did normally.

“Norman?” I called and nearly scared myself for making so much noise in the otherwise quiet house. I heard a sound at the end of the hallway, and peeked into it. The door opened at the end of the hall, and he appeared from his studio, wearing jeans, that hung low on his hips and were covered in paint stains, and had several rips and tears to the denim. He wiped his hands and tossed the small towel on his shoulder when he reached me, his hands then free to slide under my elbows, and then kissed me with tongue and all on the lips. 

“Hey, did I wake you up?” he asked, when he pulled back leaving me wanting for more. I blushed and looked up at him thinking about how much kissing we had already exercised and how swollen my lips felt, how, and how my neck must have been full with whisker burns. Taking in all the paint splashed on his jeans, some of it on his fingers and arms, those tattered jeans, and that typical proud look of accomplishment on his face as he eyed at me like a wild stallion that had managed to lure a new mare into his own team. 

I shook my head, and just smiled, deciding that it wouldn’t be polite to scold him from something that we had both been rather enthusiastic about, “N-No, I just - - woke up.”

“Mmhmm,” he murmured and stroked a thumb over my upper arm, and over my shoulder. 

“Feeling hungry,” I admitted then. I had no idea what time it was, but I knew it was dark outside and we hadn’t eaten absolutely nothing all day. 

“Me too,” he said, bringing his hand to scratch the back of his head. I ducked my head down, and chuckled a little. His hair was messy, and I could only imagine how my own hair looked at that moment.

“You know, I’ll order us some pizza,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone, “We can eat that and go to bed. Sounds like a plan?”

“Y-Yes,” I replied, my stomach flipping around twice when he mentioned the bed.

I figured that it would be rather pointless for us to sleep in different bedrooms now. I tiptoed my way through the living room and to the patio door and opened it. The cool air hit my skin quickly but I stepped outside anyways. The porch light came on as I made my way to the banister. After about five minutes I felt Norman’s hands slide around my waist, “The pizza’s going to be here in fifteen minutes, Sweetheart. What are you doing out here?”

“Needed the fresh air,” I whispered back, and stared into the darkness of his backyard. He let go of me, quickly hopping to sit on the banister, and pulled out the pack of smokes of his. I watched him, rather enthralled, light up the cigarette, his cheekbones more prominent when he drew in the first smoke.

I reached to take his hand into mine, and began fiddling with his fingers, lacing them with mine, running my fingertips over them, finally bringing his hand up, and pressing my lips on his knuckles. It was a little expression of closeness and love, and it was intimate. He didn’t say a word, but his free hand began toying with the edges of the sheet, that were covering me up to my chest. The cigarette hung on his lips, his eyes wandered to the front of the sheet dress I was now wearing like the best of Greek priestesses. 

“Why are you so good to me?” he asked, voice gentle and soft, while his thumb kept stroking that little spot just above my collar bones, where it conjoined with the neck.

I chuckled and wiggled closer, “I’m not. I’m not good for myself either.”

He huffed a little, snuffing the cigarette against the ashtray next to him on the banister, “Yes, you are. You just can’t see it for yourself,” he whispered against my ear, making me shiver this time. I was about to answer to him to stop joking, when the doorbell rang and he reminded me that the pizza had arrived.

I wandered after Norman back into the house and to the living room. He answered the door, and paid the pizza chatting up a moment with the delivery boy who seemed to be a fan of his and the show. Luckily that boy didn’t see me prancing about the house in a sheet toga.

I was indeed still wrapped in my sheet. I curled myself into the corner of the couch like a cat, while he bustled for a while in the kitchen, before he brought the pizza box with him to the couch. He had two beer bottles and one bottle of water with him and offered both of them to me, but I opted to take the water instead, shaking my head at the beer. I think I would have loved to drink one, but I knew that it would make me more or less sick to the stomach. 

When he sat down I glanced at the clock only to realize that it was well past midnight. 

“C’mere,” he cooed to me softly and I snuggled closer to him, taking a quick sip of water and then placing the cap back on. 

“Are we g-going t-to f-fall asleep o-on the c-couch again?” I asked and reached for the smallest slice of pizza, beginning to nibble it like a mouse on a piece of cheese.

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “As long as I can sleep with you.”

I giggled and slapped his bare chest, making him ‘oomphf!’ out loud, like it actually hurt him. 

“I told you before, be s-serious,” I whispered, and gathered the sheet up, and stretched my legs out on the couch. I wiggled my feet, and smiled, suddenly very pleased with myself as I sat there leaning against him, and his arm draped idly over my shoulders. 

“Jae?” he murmured into my ear.

“Yes?”

“I love you,” he whispered, and licked my earlobe.


	18. Deeper Bond Than Blood

Two days we were wrapped in our little bedroom bubble. Two days and then some. Half of his free week was nearly done by the time we actually decided to take another chance to venture outside amongst the public. 

I stepped out of the house, and turned to look at him, as he followed me. He took a moment to lock the front door, before he stuffed the keys into his jeans’ pocket. I was wearing a pair of jeans, and a grey T-shirt with a drawn picture of the Boondock Saints III movie in the front. He’d glared at it for a moment, but I had smiled innocently and told him that I had found it in his closet.

“It’s probably a gift from a fan,” he muttered.

“A-And you h-haven’t even worn it,” I replied back.

At first he suggested that we’d take his bike, but I bit my bottom lip, and shook my head. He frowned just a little, but I noticed it. I knew he wanted to ride a bike rather than take his truck, but I also knew that I wouldn’t be able to put the helmet on without having one monster of a panic attack.

“I c-can’t wear the helmet,” I whispered, stopping about three feet from his bike, and wrapped my arms around myself, “M-Maybe you should just g-go by yourself. I - - I can w-wait here.”

I didn’t want to be the reason that he couldn’t take the bike for a spin. But it also didn’t stop me from feeling incredibly guilty over the fact that something such as my claustrophobia was the reason for him no to use his bike.

“Hey,” he quickly leaned over, tilting my head up, “It’s alright. We can take the truck.”

I looked up at him, and shook my head, pushing his hand off as gently as possible, “You w-want to take the bike. It’s n-not a big deal if I s-stay here a-and - -,” I started, but he interrupted me, by taking a hold of my arm and pulling me over to his truck. 

“I’m not going to force you to do something that makes you feel uncomfortable,” he said, his voice quite serious and stern, and it almost frightened me to think that he was angry at me.

But when he looked back at me, after he opened the passenger side door, he was grinning playfully, and the fearful feeling disappeared quickly. As I climbed in the truck he made me squeal out loud by smacking my butt and laughing, before he slammed the door shut and ran around to get onto the driver’s seat.

When he started up the engine, I was still frowning and rubbing my right butt cheek where he had given me a slap, “T-That hurt,” I pouted just a little and made him grin like a sex crazed teenager, “C’mere, and I’ll kiss it!” 

My screaming giggle fit was luckily lost to his neighbors since the windows of the car were closed when he lunged at me and kissed my neck before running his hands under and up my shirt. 

* * *

There might have been a discussion about what we were in private, but there had never been a discussion about what we would be to the public.

I didn’t even know what to really call ‘us’.

So, when we got to the production lot we were greeted by a horde of screaming fans apparently just waiting for him to make an appearance. I noticed him flinch, as he stopped at the gate, and glanced over his shoulder to see if the fans were following his car. The security guard at the gate growled something, and opened the barrier quickly and told Norman to drive in quickly.

I may have giggled to myself when Norman swore out loud and drove the car in the back lot in order to avoid people from seeing us together in the car, but of course that was just something of a defense mechanism in order not to think about what kind of a media storm it would raise if I was actually spotted with him all of a sudden. That was the first second time I felt shortness of breath and that dizzy feeling crawling over me like a dark shadow, that wouldn’t leave me the hell alone.

He squeezed my hand when he parked the car and looked at me questioningly. I wanted to stay in the car, but I couldn’t voice that want out loud, and instead of staying in the car I climbed out and followed him. 

It was still hotter than hell outside. I chewed the inside of my cheek when I thought about how much it drained the actors to run around in this kind of heat. It wasn’t a surprise at all that Norman looked rather drained in some of the taken pictures of him driving home. 

As we got inside the production office, we were both greeted by the soothing and cool air conditioning.

“Hey, Reedus!” someone called and Norman grinned idiotically. I saw an older man, with a ponytail quickly tread towards us and the two men hugged briefly, “The script is at Nancy’s desk, get it and read it.”

“Great,” Norman replied and I saw his eyes already searching for that scrip from the desk only the two men knew where it was. The place was completely new to me and I tried just to blend in the background. 

“Well, hello there,” the man said, and peered at me over his glasses at me, “I’m Greg.”

“Oh, umh - - This is Jae,” Norman quickly said and glanced at me, “Greg makes all the zombie stuff around here. All those poor lost souls.”

“A new girl, huh? You dawg,” Greg chuckled and extended his hand towards me for me to shake it. I tried to smile, but it was a weak attempt at that. 

Instead I shook the hand, and said, “I’m Jae Howard.”

“Greg, it’s not like that - -,” Norman stared, his cheeks already flushed and he looked at me like he was a lost little puppy. He was lost at words. 

“We a-are friends,” I whispered, barely loud enough for Greg to hear. 

At first I didn’t realize what it was, when I saw a flash in Norman’s eyes, but it didn’t take me long to figure it out. I felt a pang of guilt inside of me, when I recognized the look as disappointment. I should have answered with something more to it. I should have told him we were indeed a couple. But were we? That’s what I had been trying to figure out for quite some time now. 

“Just friends?” Greg pressed on and stepped closer, “You know, he’s not that tricky to read on,” he said and poke a finger at Norman’s direction.

I blinked few times, before I ducked my head down feeling the heat creep up onto my cheeks again.

I didn’t know what to answer to that, so instead I kept quiet. 

“Leave Jae alone, Greg,” Norman said, with a plain tone that actually revealed enough of his feelings. He was baffled and slightly hurt. 

“Well, we’ll see,” Greg replied, giving _me_ a little wink, before he shrugged his shoulders, and marched past Norman and motioned him to follow.

Before I let him follow the man, I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back, “Y-You wanted m-me to tell h-him we a-are together?” I asked.

“Do you want that?” he replied with a question, tossing the ball back into my court.

“I k-know the limitations that come with dating you,” I whispered, “I don’t want to push those boundaries too quickly, too hard. I am just some singer off the mainstream. I’m not recognized at the streets, and I don’t have a large, rather rabid fan base stalking my every move. You do.”

He chuckled and nodded as an agreement, but then he got serious and looked at me intently, “I still would like to call you mine,” he said, and I could almost hear the drawl in his speech. I tilted my head and blushed, feeling cold shivers flush through me like a wave. He winked and leaned over, “But I won’t rush things, I promise.”

With that he ran after Greg to get his script for the next episode and even when he was talking to the man he kept looking at me. I knew exactly what he was thinking. Greg was right; he wasn’t really all that hard to interpret. 

* * *

I sat on the side of the bed, and watched at Jae sleep. I watched the slow intake of her breath, and the way she curled up on her side, nuzzled her face against my pillow, and the way her chocolate brown hair pooled around it and cascaded down onto the sheet. She slept so peacefully that I didn’t want to disturb her even though I wanted nothing more than to curl up with her and forget the world. 

She slept on her stomach, the sheet scrunched down, resting on her hips, her back bare and exposed. Her hands were extended forward underneath the pillow, crossed from their wrists, while head rested peacefully on the pillow. She’d stolen my pillow during the night, mind you, and her own was somewhere on the floor.

I’d been up for the past few hours.

At first I’d resisted the damn urge to take her picture while she was sleeping, but I lost that battle pretty quickly. I kept fiddling with the camera, taking some more pictures of her as quietly as I possibly could. After I had taken enough from every angle I switched off to my phone and agreed with that little voice inside of me that I needed to have a picture of her like this on it.

When I put my phone down, I turned to look at her once more.

I knew I was bad for her.

I knew I’d end up screwing things up. I’d done it so many times before. I’d done it because I was just running away from relationships, from responsibilities and from what ever was the word of that moment.

It was selfish of me to hang onto this with her. I should let her go. I was gone close to 200 days a year, filming, doing PR and conventions. Even when I had some down time in New York, there was always something I wanted or needed to do. Most of the time those 200 days rounded up pretty quickly to 365 days a year. And as kind as she was, she wouldn’t want to uproot her own life for me, she wouldn’t want to travel with me, just to keep me company.

But, I couldn’t do it.

I wanted to be selfish and stubborn. I knew I was selfish, but I couldn’t bring myself to be bothered by it.

I wanted someone strong enough who wouldn’t play fucking twenty questions when I got home at the end of the day, she didn’t. I wanted someone who had their head on straight and she did. I wanted someone to concentrate on me, when my loyalties were split in a dozen different directions at once and I wanted someone to take care of me, she did just that.

Watching her sleep was the most calming thin I had seen in a long time. I had every intention of letting her remain in her peaceful slumber. For the hours I had watched her, I had been content, I knew I didn’t have to worry about anything.

Yet, I didn’t want to be alone any longer.

Again I realized just how needy and selfish my behavior was when I leaned over, and allowed my fingers to trace over a scar on her side, the pads of my fingers ghosting over the skin of her back. Waking her up to keep me company was, on my mind, as something juvenile, and yet I didn’t care about that either and I hated myself for it. 

I brushed her hair aside, leaning over her, kissing her shoulder gently. She murmured in her sleep, slightly curling to herself more, and wiggling skittishly. I watched as she rolled over, onto her back, only to roll back onto her left side, and pull the sheet up. I saw her shiver just a little, and then pull her knees up to her chest.

I was in no hurry to wake her up. I watched her slowly wake and enjoyed ever second of it. I enjoyed the way her body slowly began to move underneath the sheets she’d hogged all to herself. The way her eyes began to flutter and then open just a little bit, focusing on me, as if I was the only thing that mattered to her in the world. Granted, we were alone in the bedroom, so naturally her eyes fell up on me alone. But the way she looked at me - - _Holy fuck, I just wanted that never to end_. I felt shivers run all over my body when I looked back at her.

Jae lifted her head from the pillow and blinked twice, still sleepy, and half awake, “Hmmm?” she softly murmured. 

In a whisper I told her, “I’m cold.”

Half awake, she nodded. The house was hotter than hell itself from the lack of power. We’d heard about it on our way back home, someone had run into a power transformer pole and cut off the power for the entire town. They had probably fixed it by now, but I was too much wrapped up in this bedroom bubble with Jae to go check the fuses. She looked at me once and knew it a different type of cold, even in her dazed state.

She patted the bed beside her, “Come here,” she whispered and smiled a little at me.

I listened to her. I crawled over to where she patted and dropped onto the mattress, moving closer to her.

I looked into her sleepy warm eyes, as she wrapped her arms around me, and felt guilty yet again that it was all about me. My job, my life in the public eye, my son that I adored and wanted to give the world to, my friends and family, it all left me feeling cold and empty sometimes. But when she ran her hands over my arms, her legs wrapped around my waist and thighs, and pulled me closer to her, she gave everything back to me. She caressed my skin, massaged my scalp, and kept toying with my hair. 

I knew she would have never done things like this a little while ago, but right now I didn’t have enough in my heart to begin to think why the sudden change of hearts. She was touching me, placing gentle kisses upon my skin, and less gentle kisses upon my lips. She understood the silence I sometimes needed, and she hadn’t prodded with questions or demands even once. She let me talk, she let me to tell her what I wanted, and what I needed to tell her.

_Jesusfuck_ , she was too good to me. 

The sound that escaped from the back of her throat when I grabbed her tightly and pulled her even closer almost made me lose it. I wrapped my arms around her waist and watched her sleepy eyes.

_God, I want even more of her_ , I thought. 

She didn’t say anything, when she reached to touch my face and began tracing every contour and line on it. I felt her fingers brush over the scar on my forehead, and I rested my head against her chest.

Her fingers kept drawing and rubbing circles over my back, over my tattoos, and then occasionally get into my hair and rub and tug a little. I kissed her bare chest. I let my hands skim over her sides, making her arch towards me. 

“I love you,” she whispered and my heart felt like it was going to explode. A small smile tugged my lips, though. She tilted her head as she looked at me and I saw it in her eyes that she had comforted me enough. 

It was so slow at first. The kiss grew from the soft and tentative kisses to something tender, and meant to do a little more than comfort and soothe. My lips moved against hers, then I tasted her lips, her tongue and before I knew it I couldn’t stop myself from just dominating that softness that was her mouth.

When I moved to nip and kiss her neck, her voice came out in a soft gasp, “A-Are you… A-Are y-you up for this? Tonight?”

I could have made a juvenile joke about bodily organs, yeah, but it would have been pointless, because I was already hard and wanting to feel her completely. 

“Yeah, I need this,” I groaned against her shoulder, as I clutched her upper arm, “I just need you.”

She placed a tender kiss upon my lips, and let me take over. She giggled, when she let me gently push her onto her back, and I eased myself over her, making sure I wasn’t hurting her. That giggle echoed in my ears and knotted my stomach into a jumbled mess. Just like my mind was right now.

She traced her fingers over my face, and drew herself up to kiss me on the lips, and then, more bravely my neck, my shoulders, my chest. When she kissed the tattoo on my chest, her hands fell. They traced around my waist, testing the hot skin and muscles beneath the skin. She pressed down slightly making me groan out loud. 

I swear there wasn’t going to be any tearing off clothes in the heat of the moment now, I wanted to go slow and savor everything. I wanted to feel and taste her, beyond some animalistic passion. I wasn’t in the mood for a quickie, but the way she moved her hands, slow and gentle, she didn’t want things to be rushed either.

“Jae,” I breathed against her ear, kissing the hot skin of her neck. A whimper came from her throat in a feeble response. She didn’t bring her hands up, but instead let her nails rake over my skin, sending tremors through me with such a force that I nearly, very nearly, came on the spot.

She smiled at me, when I moved to lift her hips, and pulling down her panties. I saw her blushing, when I tossed the damned things somewhere on the floor over my shoulder. Looking at her, I swear I had never seen anything so beautiful. I felt her fingers sliding onto my waist, and then her fingers tugged the waistband sweatpants I had on. She pulled the string, “T-These need to c-come off.”

There was that lilting stutter, struggle with words, that made her way of speaking adorable, and I nodded in violent agreement, silently. I didn’t climb off of her, but instead maneuvered myself with ease, and got the pants off. 

When I tossed the pants on the floor, I felt her shift underneath me enough to prop herself up, and then her lips were connected with my stomach, chest, shoulders. The tip of her tongue began to trace my clavicle, brushing over the tattooed ‘x’ on my neck, and resulted in my quick intake of breath. My fingers slid into her loose hair, and I held her close. Her teeth lightly scraped down over my skin, and elicited another gasp from me, when she bit the sensitive sin of my nipple. My grip on her hair tightened when she traced her tongue around the responsive skin.

And jesusfuck if it wasn’t too much for me. Too much teasing I didn’t want. I wasn’t really in the mood for that. I just wanted her, plain and simple. Pushing her back down on the bed I crawled over her, until I was eye to eye above her, on my hands and knees. She smiled, and traced her fingertips across my stomach and we both felt my muscles tighten underneath the touch. 

She didn’t even know how much that smile, and her little touch almost drove me over the edge. But I was certain she could see it in my eyes. Wrapping her legs around my waist, she pulled me closer, until there was nothing else between. Just one smooth, determined motion, and I felt myself sliding in. Her back arched, and her hips bucked against me to meet up the movement of me thrusting. A groan I just couldn’t contain escaped from my throat, and she hummed as a response. The sensations were too much, too powerful, and I watched her closing her eyes, enjoying the feeling I was giving her, the feeling of being filled. I lowered my head down against her shoulder, and sighed against the slightly sweaty skin, that felt so hot against my face. I stayed still, unable to move panting heavily, but when she then began slowly to move her hips, it was all the encouragement I needed. 

She met my thrusts, my movements, and in a pleasure dimmed growl, I managed to hiss, “I love you… God, you know I love you, right? I love you… I love you.”

She leaned up, her fingers running over my biceps and stroking then my forearms, as she kissed me once, twice, three and four times, all gentle, feathering kisses. When she pulled back, I followed her back down onto the bed, unable to stop kissing her, and unable to let her go that far from me.

I don’t know if she felt, or saw or sensed it so, she did something that I couldn’t believe at first. She took my face between her palms stroking my hair back, and made me look into her green eyes, “Norman, j-just l-let me take c-care of you to-tonight.”

I nodded, because I couldn’t voice anything out loud. And very gently, and slow, she rolled us both onto our sides, and then more, until I was splayed on the bed on my back, and her hands rested on my chest, straddling on my lap. She looked at me, when she reached for my hands, her cheeks flushed with pink and her eyes twinkling with a strange mixture of embarrassment and lust, and laid my hands on her thighs. 

When she began to move, I couldn’t think anymore about the guilt over my selfishness, or how would we ever get this thing to work.


	19. Decision To Be Made

I woke up groggily when I felt the bed shift, and Norman’s arm slammed kind of roughly against my stomach. He was splayed on the bed on his stomach, his head resting on the mattress without a pillow, his hair sticking to his eyelashes, falling in front of his face. His heavy arm rested on my stomach still, and I let my own fingers slowly run over the skin of his forearm, watching the hair on it slowly stir and goose bumps forming in the wake of my touch. He stirred, but then he sighed deep, contently and resumed to snore softly. 

I shifted, onto my left side, and softly brushed his hair back from his beautifully relaxed face. I nearly cried when my chest tightened at the feeling of happiness I suddenly experienced when I saw him just laying there, sleeping soundly. I took his hand, and laced my fingers with his, smiling a little as I scooted closer, resting my cheek against his shoulder. 

“Mmhmm, Jae?” I heard him murmur as he stirred, making me look up at him.

“I’m here,” my reply was soft, and I smiled, but then, it hit me. I remembered that it was Sunday. The day that I would actually have to pack up and leave, because come Monday he would have to go to work bright eyed and bushy tailed like a squirrel he was. 

When I turned to look at him, hoping that I could say something to him about the day, I noticed he’d fallen asleep again. 

_My sleeping Squirrel_ , I bit my bottom lip in order not to giggle out loud at the imagery, but just one look at his sleeping face made me almost tear up. The week had gone too fast. My skin crawled from the feeling of leaving, because I still felt every single touch and kiss on me, and it was too much.

Sitting up, I slowly moved his arm from my waist, and unlaced my fingers with his, crunching the sheet in my lap before I pushed it aside, and climbed off the bed very carefully. An involuntary shiver ran through me when I watched Norman still asleep on the bed, sheet covering him from waist down, seeing how relaxed he was now. He deserved this, and so much more. 

My bare feet felt sticky against the dark wooden floor of the bedroom, as I quietly padded my way to his closet to raid it for something to wear, because I didn’t feel like going to the guest bedroom to find my bag. Since Wednesday we had been all wrapped up in each other, in our little world without any disturbances, and I hadn’t even seen my bag since then.

He didn’t mind me not wearing a ton of makeup which I was almost painfully thankful for and for reasons I couldn’t even begin to comprehend right now it felt good to be able to be just myself in front of him. It was almost dangerously too good.

As I kept rummaging through his closet, I couldn’t help but think where this would head to. Stopping for a second to swallow that horrible lump in my throat, I knew I had given way too much of myself to him and my brick wall, the protection of it, was now beyond repair when it came to him. I clutched the shelf full of clothes, and chewed my bottom lip. I cursed inwardly, willing myself not to start crying, but it wasn’t easy.

It took me several minutes to force myself to calm down, before I could return to the search of something to wear. I found one of his old tee shirts, and pulled it over my head, wiggling it on me. I saw my reflection off the full length mirror that rested against the wall next to the bed, and chuckled at it a little bit. Fiddling the hem of Norman’s shirt that I had unabashedly stolen from his closet, I tiptoed my way out of the bedroom and down the stairs. The shirt was one of those old band shirts he loved to wear, tattered and stretched to an almost shapeless and sleeveless mess of fabric, that hung off my shoulders seductively, but it was much too comfortable not to wear. I didn’t bother with panties, but since the shirt reached nearly all the way down to my knees I figured I didn’t need them. I was also disturbingly thankful that we had the house all to ourselves, even though I wasn’t uncomfortable to wearing such a skimpy ensemble of - - a shirt.

I headed into the kitchen, and stopped in front of his espresso machine giving it a stink eye. The damn thing had nearly burned my fingers earlier this week and I refused to even try to make it work now. I wasn’t going to touch that thing with a ten foot pole. I’d either break it or break myself. Instead, I decided to make myself a cup of tea in the worst possible way. Anyone British would have probably hung me from the neck, if they’d find out what did sometimes to get my morning tea. 

I puttered around a moment, before I actually found his mugs, and literally fought to get one down from the height that was his cupboard. Then, I hit the other cupboards in search for some tea. I chuckled at the nearly empty shelves, before I found a large pack of pomegranate tea. Filling the plain white mug with water, and then quickly stuck it in the microwave. I scrunched my nose at the thought of making tea this way - I really wanted coffee – but unfortunately his Starship Entermachine was too much for me to handle. I watched for a moment for the microwave spinning the mug inside of it, but then I reached for my cell phone, and dared to glance at my emails. 

Just as I predicted there were several notifications from Jon. Few of them were rather frantic in their tone. He was worried and anxious at the same time, and I had to reply to him at least something. With a scarcely worded message I told him that I was spending time with a friend, and that I was planning on my allotted performance for the Cedar Lake’s autumn roster. I knew he wouldn’t be happy about that explanation, but I couldn’t make myself word out with whom I was with and what we seemed to be.

The sound of the microwave dinging startled me out of my thoughts and I hurried over to open the door and then picked up the mug, dropping the infuser of pomegranate tea in it.

I glanced at the stairwell, tilting my head and trying to listen to any sounds that might have revealed if Norman was already awake. Most certainly he was still fast asleep. And if I was comfortably tired, and my muscles ached dully – not in a bad way – he was probably leveled like a ton of bricks.

I bit my bottom lip, feeling the heat creeping up on my cheeks, and smiled at my own embarrassing thought about how I was pretty much the only reason for Norman being a flat bastard right now. I had been more than unable to keep my hands off of him, and at that time, he hadn’t mind at all. I flinched when I thought of that, and grimaced. He was driving me up the wall. He was drawing out things I didn’t even know I had in me.

I was feeling anxious all of a sudden, as I stared into the mug, and watched the tea swirl in it as I slowly wiggled the spoon back and forth. I let the infuser bag soak in the hot liquid for a while, before I lifted infuser up and wrung it against the spoon, before dropping it into the trash. 

Knowing that he wouldn’t get up yet I decided to have a morning moment of peace and quiet at the patio and use that moment to make myself a plan as of what should I do. I walked carefully with my mug and phone to the patio door and opened it, stepping outside on the hardwood deck that felt soft and warm under my bare feet. 

The house had been slowly returning to the normalcy of being cool; it had taken Norman and his stubbornness two days to get the air conditioner up and running only after swearing profusely and one bandaged up finger. Even though I had suggested for him to leave it be, or at least call a professional to take care of it, he’d fiddled with the damn thing himself. It was merely about a fuse, but he still had managed to cut open his finger. 

He’d been such a baby about the little cut on his index finger, but I had cleaned it, bandaged it up and kissed it to make it better. I also had kissed him quite a lot in other ways, and that had lead for us to have sex on the kitchen floor. Something I was almost heartbreakingly sure that I wouldn’t have done had it been with anyone else in the world.

Smiling again to the memory of it, I looked around to find a place to sit down to, keeping in mind that I wasn’t wearing any panties. So, I curled my legs under me, tugging the hem of the shirt to cover my bare ass and sat down on the padded chair by the door. The sun almost hit onto my feet but the air was hot enough to keep me warm. I still wrapped my palms around the mug, keeping my phone on my lap as I kept sipping the hot liquid and looking at the backyard. 

The silence outside on the patio and inside the house was deafening. It was practically screaming at me. But this time, I ignored it, and kept myself calm, when I realized how comfortable I was feeling at this place. How comfortable it was for me to be here with him, and that I didn’t have to worry about anything. That was the though that quickly brought me to tears for real. Clutching the mug between my fingers I didn’t want to think how I could bring this up with Norman. I knew he wasn’t even thinking about the fact that it was Sunday. He didn’t want to. I didn’t want to think of it either but I knew I would have to leave. I quickly wiped off the tears, brushing my fingers underneath my eyes. 

The heat of the tea through the heavyset mug warmed my hands and fingers. Even though it was probably 130 degrees outside I still was feeling cold. The numbing warmth on my palms wasn’t enough, though. Again, I felt like I was trapped; boxed in, even while sitting on the wide open back porch of Norman’s house. I wanted to run and forget the world.

“Why can’t I just have a little bit of normalcy in my life?” I whispered to myself, shifting in the seat, and trying not to spill the hot liquid on my thighs. 

I chuckled out loud as if to call myself out on that stupid question. I was shacked up with Norman Reedus at the moment in his Georgia house and I wanted normalcy in my life? If anyone would see me with him, it would create a shit storm of the century and I wasn’t sure if I could do it. Norman might have been accustomed to it, on some levels, but I wasn’t. My chest tightened, and my stomach knotted to the thought. I knew this would never really work out. I’d end up hurting him, or he’d end up hurting me. Or I would start to think more than he was willing to give and that would make him run. I would have to get used to the fact that this would end soon.

He’d said it himself that he ran from responsibilities, he ran from relationships, he just ran, and if this was just some kind of a holiday fling to him I knew I was the one who would get hurt eventually.

_But what right do I have to demand him not to run?_

I had no right to do that.

Biting my cheek, I lifted my phone from my lap, and began searching for flights from Atlanta to New York. There were several, but I couldn’t really pick one. I flinched at the sight of the button that would book me the flight, and therefore I just dropped the phone back onto my lap, rubbing my eyes.

“Jae?” 

His voice made me screech out loud, and I did spill some of the hot tea on myself. I whipped my head towards the door and saw Norman rubbing sleep of his eyes. His hair was all mussed up, eyes hooded, and he was yawning, before he stretched his arms, and back. 

“I - - I’m sorry, d-did I wake you up?” I stuttered quickly and tried not to look at him, knowing that he would notice that I had been crying.

“Nah,” he grumbled, stepping out and now focusing his eyes on me, “You’ve been crying. Why?”

_Damn it! Why did he notice?_ I thought to myself.

“I, uh - - it’s S-Sunday, N-Norman,” my voice betrayed me, “I n-need to l-leave today,” I whispered, and turned to look intently at the mug and the tea, and the slight steam that still rose from it.

“Why?” he asked, frowning as he looked at me. His expression almost looked like I had insulted his mother.

“Y-You go back to work tomorrow,” I waved my hand towards something that symbolized the future, “A-And… I have t-to - -,” I stammered, trailing off at first, “I need to start to plan o-on those performances Cedar Lake allowed me to h-have.”

“You don’t have to,” he said quickly, offering a nervous smile. I looked up at him, and noticed how he began fidgeting his fingers, rubbing them over his wrists, and flinching when our eyes met. 

I was about to say something, but his expression made me stop. I frowned for a second, looking at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking. He saw the hesitation on my face, and heard it in my voice, and then it hit me; I recognized the look on him. I ducked my head, shuddered from a sudden feeling of cold shill, before I stood up slowly. Taking those few steps I stood in front of him, “I know that f-face,” I whispered, placing my palm of his right cheek, and watched him lean against the touch, as I gave him a feeble, sad smile. It took him a moment to realize what I had said.

“What face?”

“I know that look,” I continued to whisper, “You’re feeling pa-panicked, y-you’re feeling anxious. I know b-because I’ve been there. But y-you’ve said it yourself, you r-run from r-responsibilities, you run from r-relationships,” I tried to explain my thoughts to him, but my voice failed me, as it sounded strangled, and fear stricken. 

I bent my head down, and walked past him, not wanting to discuss about that any further, but I knew he wouldn’t let go of it. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded as he followed me back into the house. I walked to the sink and poured the tea down the drain, quickly rinsed the mug, before I abandoned it on the counter. He was standing on my right side, so I backed away from him around the left side of the little kitchen island, and slinked to the other side. 

“If - - if I s-stay - -,” I started, voice cracking, “If I stay, N-Norman, you will run e-eventually, and I’m a-afraid that you’ll e-end up hurting me m-more than is possible,” I whispered, and then wiped my eyes, to stop the tears to overflow.

“I s-should h-have thought it through, but I d-didn’t,” I continued, biting my bottom lip, “And now look at u-us.”

“No.”

He stood in the middle of the living room, arms hanging down, but fingers clenched into tight fists, as he kept staring at my feet. 

“N-No?” I threw a question back at him, feeling utterly confused. 

“No. You don’t have to leave. I - - I won’t run. I’m not running. I want you to stay.”

“This is s-still n-new,” I whispered, backing onto the couch, before I sat down, keeping my legs tightly together.

“I don’t want to you leave!” he repeated, his voice rising an octave, before he stormed down the hallway into the studio of his.

The way he reacted puzzled me and frightened me, but I still followed him, down the hall. I reached to open the door, timidly at first, but then peeking through the door, knowing that I would have to talk to him, and that he would be there.

“N-Norman?”

* * *

He stood behind the door, hunched over a desk full of bolts and screws, and thick leather gloves and something that looked like a blowtorch. He was tense, a complete opposite of that peaceful and calm Norman that had been upstairs sleeping a while ago.

The smell of paint filled the room mixed with the smell of his cigarettes. 

“N-Norman?” I whispered at the door, too afraid to step inside the studio of his. I didn’t want to impose myself because it was his space; somewhere he was creative just like I was in my music room. And I wasn’t sure if I was welcomed in there anyways. Maybe before, but now? It made me shiver, and my movements toned down to timid from the reasonably brave they had been a moment ago.

“What?” he barked back at me, and glanced over his shoulder. 

I ducked my head down again, taking a step back from the door, letting it slowly close as I let go of the edge of it, “I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” I whispered, thinking that it would be best if I left him alone for a moment.

“You said that already.”

Quickly shooting a look up at him, I tilted my head, “O-Oh, I meant, I’ll g-give you some space,” I responded softly. 

He didn’t come after me, and I didn’t know if I should be happy about it, or should I be worried. I walked quickly to the porch, and sat down, finally letting myself cry, as I brought my knees up on the seat, and pulled the shirt over them, covering my toes as well with the hem of the shirt. 

The only thought that was going through my mind in circles was _‘I should have known better’_. I should have definitely known that this was a bad idea, to come here and just expect that things were going to be good. 

The thing was, that he had clearly hoped for something, just like I had, but because we had not talked about it, we had driven each other into this dark pit that now surrounded us. I still wasn’t sure what we were, or where we were, or if I was just a convenient vacation fun. I shook my head quickly and refused to think that it was the case. He was mad at me, and I was mad at myself, but mostly I was just afraid. I was nothing like the girls he usually dated. I was timid, afraid all the time. Sometimes I though that I had no mind of my own when it came to people in my life. I gave in too quickly, and I had given in so much already to him. I sobbed, drawing in a deep breath, and then looking at the yard that opened out in front of the porch. I shouldn’t be here. My legs trembled, like a newborn deer’s calf, and my sense of balance wasn’t working either. I had to hold onto the wall as I slowly and quietly made my way through the living room and up the stairs into the guest bedroom I had been avoiding for almost half a week. 

The bedroom was dusky, but I didn’t switch on any lights. I stumbled to my bag that still sat on the bed and pulled out a change of clothes. Then I quickly made sure I had all of my belongings that I had brought with me in my bag. But instead of changing into my own clothes, I crawled on the bed, and curled into a ball, sobbing softly into the pillow. 

_Why I hadn’t listened to my gut feeling?_

I fought not to make sounds that would alarm him, if he was listening to. I had to get over this alone, because I would have to fly back home, and put an end to this.

My breathing hitched into my throat and I squeezed the comforter, closing my eyes, and counting five seconds between breaths in order to calm myself down. I wasn’t even sure why I was so upset. I had known this would come, but I don’t think I was prepared to the way he’d react to it.

A light knock at the door startled me, and I curled into a tighter ball, bringing my knees to my chest, and remaining quiet.

“Jae?” his voice came tentatively and I heard the door opening slightly. 

_Please, just go away, I can’t do this now_ , I sent out a silent prayer but I knew he wouldn’t just leave.

“Jae?” he asked again, this time inside the room, and I heard him shuffle closer to the bed, “I’m sorry,” he whispered, stopping on the other side of the bed, looking down at my back. 

“I just - -,” he started, and then sighed, “I just don’t want you to leave. I’m sorry. I should have dealt that better.”

I didn’t say anything, trying to hold back the sobs that were fiercely trying to accompany the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered once more. I heard him turn to leave, and then, I turned to look at him, his shoulders hunched in defeat.

“Stay,” it was the clearest, softest and steadiest I had ever been in my life. He spun around quickly, sighing in relief, as he climbed onto the bed and carefully settled himself next to me, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me against him, back-to-chest. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, touching his arm, and feeling him shuddering.

“You don’t have to leave,” he murmured into my ear, hot breath against my neck.

“The thing is,” I whispered, again, “I don’t want to leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People are rather divided when it comes to real person fiction. I have never stated any of these things I've written here as facts, and I do not claim that I _know_ Mr. Norman Reedus personally. Some fact checking have occurred, but 80 per cent of this is purely fiction. I enjoy writing and I write my fiction solely for my own entertainment. This is a figment of my imagination, that is vast. 
> 
> There have been questions about why I write real person fiction with female character, and I'm just saying this... If you enjoy only M/M fiction there are plenty around to read. I have clearly marked this as M/F fiction. Do not read if this is not your cup of tea, and then get 'offended'. I do not pretend that what I just wrote was politically correct or very kindly put. My story, my writing. I'm just borrowing some real people to toy with in a fictional dimension that is also known as this story: Caramel Latte & Coffee Black.


	20. How About Some Communication?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me illicitly long to frigging write this chapter. I hate myself. I had to hut my stupid ass muse down! She's been on the run from this!   
> But I'm back on my roots, I'm writing angst. Yay me... This is something that just had to be get over and done for before I can move on. Don't hate me. *sigh*

I stayed for the night. I was too distraught to function and even I knew it myself. But despite how I felt, and how ever much I wanted to stay with Norman, I would have to leave come Monday morning.

There was a shift in our relationship, I felt it, and even though it would be for the best that I’d give him some space it still made me feel like I was the bad guy. My whole body was ablaze and my mind kept spinning and twisting the events of the evening, dissecting and analyzing every moment and every word; how could I have done things differently. He had been so upset, so furious, when I had told him that I would have to leave, and I had seen his face when I had told him straight to his face that he kept running away from relationships.

That look; I knew I had hurt him, and the rest of the evening I was tongue tied, and I couldn’t find any way to say what I wanted. I felt bad, and I felt like this was the story of my life. Even the usual _‘I’m sorry’_ wouldn’t utter from my lips.

This time, I didn’t stop myself from booking a ticket for a Monday flight.

This time, I seriously wished that I had not met him. 

And this time, I blame myself for being such a blue eyed fool.

We slept in the same bed in his bedroom, but he laid there staring the ceiling, while I was curled onto a ball on the other side of the bed. I tried very hard not to cry, but at some point of the night I gave up, but when I started to cry he slid closer, his arm coming over my waist and he murmured soft and soothing words into my ear and kept whispering to me that he didn’t want to see me cry, and that he wasn’t mad at me.

I clutched his arm and sobbed into his pillow and prayed that in the morning I wouldn’t break down in front of him anymore. We both fell asleep like that at the wee hours of the night, and knowing awfully well that we’d have a horrible day ahead of us once the alarm would ring. 

 

* * *

 

I gathered my clothes and other belongings as quickly as I could while he was taking a shower. He’d scampered up from the bed the minute the alarm went on, and when I heard the water running, I too scurried up quickly. I was utterly scared and distraught about facing him, and it had me get dressed speedily and run downstairs. The house I had not been afraid before was now feeling somehow distorted and dark, almost unwelcoming.

I wasn’t sure I had packed everything I had brought with in my bag, but the feeling of panic forced me to find my shoes instead of going around the place one more time to make sure I wasn’t leaving my things scattered around. 

There was a hollow space inside of me, and my chest ached. It all made me want to scream, and run, just get away from this place, away from the life I had; just - - Just away. The panicky feeling ushered me to pick up my backpack, jacket and shoes, and then hurry outside of the house.

Outside, the moment the sun and the wind hit my skin, I could breathe again. 

I sat down on the stairs, burying my face into my palms and trying to calm myself down, but my thoughts wouldn’t let me. They played over and over in a loop, explaining to me why things had gone wrong in the first place and why I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get involved with this. Stumbling onto his Twitter, all the tweets, meeting him, talking with him, ending up kissing him, allowing him to crawl under my skin, falling for him, loving him, coming to Georgia, trusting him, having sex with him - - all that and much more kept playing in my head in a vicious and consuming circle, and I wanted it to stop.

It was love that made my parents to force treatment on me, it was and still is love for music that kept me going forward with my career, kept pushing me onto stages and perform to audiences that I would normally run away from, it was love that made me trust him. Love made people do silly and stupid things. But love wasn’t a controllable force; it was far from it. I had controlled everything I could, everything in my life, since I was 17, because I never wanted to feel the way I had felt in that hospital bed, strapped down, trapped and helpless, unable to choose for myself. But this was the one thing that I couldn’t control; love wasn’t something I could control!

And yet, I wanted so much to have this; relationship with him. I wanted to feel that love and I wanted to be needed and wanted by someone, I wanted to live and feel alive. But my own insecurities and the fear that had made a permanent residence inside of me kept me from doing that. I didn’t want to get hurt, but I didn’t want to hurt anyone else in the process. And as sure as I was about my own wants, he would never - - 

“JAE?!” I heard him shout out loud, before I saw him storm out of the front door, wearing black jeans and nothing more, with a wide eyed panic stricken face. He stopped on his tracks, when he saw me sitting on the front steps clutching my backpack, as I quickly wiped my cheeks. I knew he would see the bloodshot eyes and he would know that I had been crying, but drying my cheeks gave me an illusion of being in control, which calmed me down a notch.

“I thought you left,” he breathed, hunkered down and brought his hand to touch my shoulder, “You scared me.”

I closed my eyes, and tilted my head up, feeling the sun’s warmth on my skin. I shook my head, because I still couldn’t trust my own voice. My flight didn’t leave until afternoon, it was still way too early for me to wander aimlessly through an airport and wait for my flight. Walking out of the house had been a good idea at the time, but now I felt stupid for doing it.

“Are you - - are you mad at me?” he asked, as he reached for my left hand tentatively, and when I didn’t pull my hand away, he relaxed a little, his fingers entwining with mine.

Again, I shook my head as a reply, but I didn’t look at him.

No, I wasn’t mad at him. 

The whirlwind of thoughts spun around in my head and that little voice deep inside of me wanted me to speak out loud and tell him. I wasn’t mad at him! I was afraid! I was afraid that _this_ , be it what ever, was it. No second chances, no apologies, no nothing!

And I was afraid that I was so damn afraid all the time.

I was angry at myself for being so fearful! I was afraid that because I had confronted him in a very sensitive matter with a less than a sensitive way, there’d be nothing I could do anymore. I was afraid that because I wasn’t bubbly, outgoing person, he would eventually get bored with me. I was afraid that he would tell me right then and there that he’d be walking out right now, that he wasn’t into this any longer. 

No, I wasn’t mad at _him_ , I was mad at myself.

When I felt him squeeze my hand gently, his thumb rubbing very gently against the back of my hand, it stopped my thoughts, and I turned to look at him. 

“I love you,” he breathed, leaning his forehead against my cheek and I let out a sob, new, hot tears began slowly running down my cheeks. I felt his nose pressing and nuzzling against my neck before he pulled me towards him, against his chest, his right leg propped against my back, and his left on the steps, as he cradled me against him.

“Panic attack?” he whispered, his breath tickled against my shoulder and neck, while his hand kept making up and down motion on my arm, as he tried to soothe and calm me down. Nodding, I kept drawing in shaky breaths, his chin resting against the top of my head. 

“You don’t have to leave,” he shrugged nonchalant, “B-But I understand,” he offered then. Him trying to be supportive, even though I was almost certain that he didn’t want to accept me leaving like a four year old, made me tilt my head up, and to look at him from the corner of my eye. My brows knitted together as I listened to him.

“I mean,” he stammered, slightly flushed with the speech he hadn’t planned on having, “You can stay. I want you to. I really want you to. And I don’t want you to think that I don’t want this. Because I do, but I - - I just - - I just want us to be.”

We hadn’t discussed anything, we had just fallen into this - - thing, and as such it was frightening as hell. I wanted to know; I needed to know that this wasn’t just something that kept him entertained during some weeks of his life. But we hadn’t discussed about anything, and I was feeling anxious and terrified at the same time.

His hold tightened, and he pulled me closer, kissing my temple and softly stroking my hair, that was cascading down my shoulders. But as much as I wanted to say something, it physically hurt for me to try to speak out loud, when I didn’t even know what to say. 

“Please,” he choked out, “Don’t cry, Jae. Don’t hate me,” he whispered again. 

If my heart was still in one piece, those were the words that shattered it into millions of tiny shards that pricked me on the inside. My breathing sped up and I tensed yet again. I wanted so badly to tell him that I loved him unconditionally, that I didn’t want to leave, that I - - I just wanted to be here, but I couldn’t make myself voice out my words, because I was still too afraid. 

“I can deal with anything else, just don’t hate me,” he murmured, his hold tightening around me, as he kept his forehead firmly against mine. Apology and fear laced his voice as well, and it made me flinch.

“I…,” I started, “I d-don’t hate y-you,” I stuttered, and tried to keep myself from sobbing out loud. Something in the back of my mind kept nagging at me that anyone of his neighbors could see this, they could start brewing ideas that would only escalate, or someone could snap a picture, and post it online. But thinking about that, and willing myself not to cry, only made me hyperventilate. 

I knew what it would take from me if this continued, if people would find out. I knew the harsh reality. I knew what it would take from him! And as much as I wanted to protect myself, I didn’t want to see him get hurt because of me.

He kept his hand stroking my back the whole time he held me and kept whispering sweet, soothing words into my ear, until I was calm enough. I sniffled, looked at him, and felt my bottom lip tremble. 

“I don’t h-hate y-you, Norman,” I croaked out, “I love you so much that it h-hurts!” 

I whimpered, and buried my face into the crook of his neck, “I d-don’t want to leave, but I c-can’t stay unless I m-make some plans first in N-New York. But me l-leaving, ma-makes me feel like I’m d-destroying what ever this is; like I’m d-destroying u-us. If… If there ever were an ‘us’. Y-You were s-so agitated last night,” I finished almost fearfully, and tilted my head as I looked up at him, warily. I didn’t have enough strength to look at him longer than a few seconds, so I turned my gaze down on the ground, when I heard him tense and say stern, “No.”

I flinched again, tensed, and coiled away, “N-No?”

His hand stilled me in place. His fingers slid under my chin and he tilted my head up, forcing me to face his gaze, “No, you don’t get to look at me with fear in your eyes. I never want to see fear in your eyes. Hate me, hit me, call it fucking quits but don’t look at me like you’re afraid of me.”

At first I didn’t understand what he meant. I blinked few times, stared at him with another panic attack bubbling inside of me, and way too many burning hot tears streaking my cheeks. But then - - then it hit me. Drawing in a shaky breath I couldn’t help but stare at him. Despite his words being stern, almost violently rough, his blue eyes twinkled warmly, and he kept looking at me as if I was his entire world.

Realization about that made me squeeze my eyes shut, as I let go of my bag. It rolled down the stairs and onto the ground. I had never seen that look on anyone’s face, but now that it was on his - - it was the brutal, honest truth. I had never been anyone’s world, either, but I knew that he was mine. He was my world, despite how this would turn out, and it was something that frightened me twice as much.

“I - - I love you, Norman,” I whispered, “I don’t h-hate you or f-fear you,” I added, kept my eyes on his.

“I’m not going to let you think that I’m some douche who just - -,” he started, but instead of finishing he huffed, and looked down at our entwined fingers, “Because I’m not. You’re too good for me, and I’m bad as hell to you. I’m always doing something, I’m always somewhere. I thought about it, and I fucking hated it! I’m gone, working, nearly all the time!”

“I n-never meant it like t-that,” I said softly between sniffles and wiping my cheeks and eyes.

“I’m not a dick,” he said, with a blank face.

“You’re not,” I soothed, touching his cheek now, “We just - - need to w-work on our communication, maybe.”

He laughed at that and then crushed me against him. I felt him nibbling my neck, before he declared rather proudly, “Mine.”

I began giggling, when he dipped us both down on the patio floor, until he was grouched over me, and my palms were skimming over his arms.

“No more tears?” he asked, grinning down at me, brushing his thumb over my cheeks and I averted my eyes from his, focusing on the tattoo of his son’s name on his arm, and gave him a coy little nod, biting my bottom lip.

“Good,” he murmured, and with a huff that followed he kissed me thoroughly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think!


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